MIRROR, MIRROR
by Darke Angelus
Summary: By popular request! Vegeta and Bulma cope with their relationship immediately following the Majin Buu Saga. COMPLETE
1. REFLECTIONS

Mirror, Mirror

© 2006 by Darke Angelus

Part 1 – Reflections

* * *

The Earth was saved (again!), the heroes were reunited (again!), and everyone was happy (again!)... at least in the hoverjet speeding a direct course back to the Western Capital, everyone should have been. But they weren't. Not by a long shot.

It had been decided that the best place for Majin Buu to hide out for the year was at the Capsule Corporation Headquarters Building, at least until the Dragonballs could be collected and the wish made for everyone to forget about him. Both Trunks and Bulma were anxious about sharing the small space with the simple-minded entity; it was pretty hard to forget all of the death and damage he had caused in the 24-hour period, not including the chaos his equally vacuous incarnations had wrought upon the Earth. But all Buu did throughout the voyage was babble on about the view and gobble candy bars. Eventually, Trunks relaxed around him and tried talking rationally; a frustrating affair, he soon discovered, with a creature having the intelligence of a two-year-old child.

In the cockpit there wasn't much conversation between Bulma and Vegeta either. He spent much of the time in a half-doze; dying and being resurrected had a way of exhausting a man, and he would have discovered death a second time if Dende hadn't healed him on the Kai's planet. It had been a rotten day, one he just wanted to forget all about, but he was well aware of Bulma's tense silence beside him. "How much do you know?" he finally asked her in a low voice.

She looked over at him, startled. He was still lying back in the co-pilot's chair with his arms crossed and eyes closed. Collecting her thoughts, she said finally; "I got almost the full story from Piccolo and Gokou at the Lookout, right after you d-died."

He opened his eyes and stared at her. "What did they tell you?"

"That the magician Babidi took control of you and transformed you into Majin. You battled Gokou and when Majin Buu was released, you sacrificed yourself to kill him. Piccolo said it was the most amazing display he ever witnessed-"

"-It didn't work. What else?"

"Well, I _died_. That over-grown wad of chewing gum back there ate Trunks and me! But I don't have a clue what happened after that until the Earth got wished back. You did that, didn't you? That was your idea." She flashed him a beaming smile and he found he had to look away from the happiness in that face, the pride she had in him. All he could offer her was a mute nod as he became lost in thought, refusing to be drawn out any further.

When they landed in the courtyard, Trunks had accepted Majin Buu's presence and took him by one gloved hand into the Headquarters building to show him around. Bulma was about to follow after them but Vegeta grabbed her arm and held her back. "Not yet, Bulma. There's something you need to know."

"It's bad, isn't it?" she asked in dread. "I can tell by the look on your face. What is it?"

"Piccolo and Kakarrot didn't tell you the entire truth," he told her in a low voice. "I let myself be taken over by Babidi's magic. He gave me something that I wanted... and took away something else in order for me to battle Kakarrot."

Her blue eyes widened in alarm. "What was it?"

"You," he said bluntly. "How I felt for you and for Trunks. I let him take away those feelings so that I could revert back to how I was before I'd ever laid eyes on you. Those emotions were holding my powers back. Babidi freed me."

"I thought I recognized that look on your face when you returned to the tournament. You killed all those people- _You almost killed me!_" she shouted into his face.

He didn't waver. "I knew you were there. I could sense you."

The deliberate certainty in his voice chilled her. "You destroyed the part of the arena right where I was standing. You barely missed me and the others! Why did you do that?"

"To prove to you that I could. To show off," he shrugged and looked away.

"To-to show-" Words failed her as she tried to rationalize the concept. All of a sudden her face scrunched up and her body leaned to the right. His battle sense immediately interpreted the incoming move but he didn't avoid the slap across the face when it came. He only hung his head when it was over.

"You-you-" She cradled her aching hand and danced around but even as angry as she was, she still couldn't resort to any name-calling. Not yet. "You threw Trunks and me away just so you could battle Gokou for old time's sake? Is that what you're saying? That all of this Majin Buu business would never have happened if not for your god-damned pride!"

Majin Buu would have been hatched sooner or later but he couldn't have been bothered to tell her that. He only said, "Yes."

"_Why are you telling me all this!_" she screamed at him. "Damn you! I would have been happier not to know any of it! Why are you telling me?"

"Because I broke my promise to you," he said in that same damnable, level tone. "I said that I'd never hurt you and I have. It wasn't a physical blow but it might as well have been. I want to know what I can do to make up for it, Bulma."

"Why? You think I'm going to offer up some sort of penance that you can work off so that we can continue to live happily ever after?" she sneered at him with amazing venom.

He nodded. "Something like that, yes-"

She moved like a flash and slapped him again and this time his instincts gave him no forewarning. His head swung with the blow and when he looked back at her his expression was frankly astonished. "Finally," she said, breathing hard. "A flash of emotion in that damned poker-face of yours. I want you out of our bedroom, Vegeta. You got that? I don't care where you go, but the last thing I want to see is your face today. I need to wrap my thoughts around all of this."

He stared from her, to the building and back again, suddenly uneasy. "Do you want me to move out?"

"I don't care!" she hollered at him. "I just want you to get your shit out of our room before I go up there. RIGHT NOW!"

He took a wandering step back, looked self-consciously around to see if anyone was watching them, and then offered her a mute nod. Without another word, he flew to the balcony of their bedroom and let himself in. Bulma watched him go, her vision warped by bitter tears. Only when she was certain he was out of sight did she sit down on the landing strut of the hover jet and cry until it felt as if her heart was going to burst through her chest with the force of her sobs.

* * *

Vegeta moved into guest quarter's one level up from the family sleeping area and stayed out of her sight for the next three days. That was just how Bulma wanted it. She was dealing with her own conflicted emotions and needed time to deal with this recent betrayal. She waited until the next day of their fight before she braved up enough nerve to talk to Trunks to about the incident. Right away, she gained a far different perspective than what Vegeta had given her; the boy knew nothing about his father's possession by Babidi. All that the youth seemed to know was his acute embarrassment over being hugged in front of Goten, and his resentment that he had been knocked out before being able to deal with Majin Buu for attacking his father. He was Vegeta's son, all right, and it was the first time since her husband had confessed the situation to her that Bulma began to feel her anger fade at long last.

She went upstairs to the guest quarter's level and stood in front of Vegeta's bedroom door. She could hear the muted sounds of the television in the other side and took in a deep breath before letting herself into his room. No knock, no announcement, she just barged in.

He was simply lying on the bed and watching TV. A part of her had hoped to catch him doing something, precisely what she didn't know, but this persistent calmness of his was beginning to bother her; a part that the anger and bitterness couldn't quite reach. "We need to talk, Vegeta."

He sat up and cleared aside the books and magazines and fast food wrappers to try and make a spot for her on the bed. She looked at all of the litter scattered on the bedspread in disgust. "Have you even budged from this room in three days?"

"Well, just to go get something to eat. Otherwise, no. You said you didn't want to see-"

"God, it stinks in here," she interrupted, and went to open up the window. After breathing in a few lungfuls of fresh air, she began to pace the room impatiently. "I'm still angry at you-"

"I know that."

"And you really hurt me-"

"I know that, too-"

"Then shut up and let me talk!" she shouted at him.

His mouth closed with a snap, and he blinked once at her but that was all. No flash of anger on his face, no precursor to a sulk, he just stared at her, his face curiously blank and unguarded. It made her hesitate for a few seconds before she plunged on.

"I talked to Trunks and he told me what you did to him-" He started to open his mouth again and she held up a hand. "I know that you did it for his sake; him and Goten's both. They never would have stopped battling Buu if you hadn't. Is that when you came around? Is that when you started shaking off Babidi's control?"

"I was never under Babidi's control. I took what he gave me and ignored his orders. Kakarrot was the person who made me see reason, eventually. By then it was too late; Buu had hatched."

"So you tried to set things right? By sacrificing yourself?"

He nodded once. "Bulma, I'm sorry-"

"No, you're not," she said in a cold voice.

"...I'm not?"

"Look at how calm you are! I know what you're doing: You're just biding your time and waiting for me to welcome you back with open arms, and legs, like nothing's ever happened. I'm telling you right now that strategy won't work on me this time."

"It's not a strategy."

"Oh? Then what is it?"

"I can't explain it. I just know that you have all the right to be the angry one here. If you need more time to deal with what I've done, I more than understand-"

"Who are you!" Bulma yelled at him. "And what have you done to my husband!"

He actually smiled. "Heh. That's a funny one."

She slapped her hands to her sides. "I give up! When you're ready to take this matter seriously, you know where to find me. Until then my room, and me, are off limits-"

"I understand."

"And I've disabled the gravity simulator-"

He nodded. "Alright."

In desperation, she added, "And-and... I've told my mother to stop cooking for you, too!"

"That's fine."

"Agh!" She left the room and slammed the door after her. He stared at it for a few seconds, his face oddly blank, and then returned to the bed to resume watching TV and eating Twinkies as if nothing had happened.

The twisted irony of the whole situation was that if Vegeta had responded to Bulma's anger with his usual reaction (i.e. by screaming back), the fight would have been immediately over and the pair would have reconciled with their trademark passion and the incident would have faded into the background where it deserved to go. However, Bulma was wrongly interpreting the Saiyan's out of character nonchalance as some sort of passive-aggressive posture against her and that was just angering her even more. She was a competitive person by nature and right now she believed that there was a contest going on between them over who was going to give in first.

She couldn't have been further from the truth.

* * *

With a child's intuition, Trunks immediately picked up that something was very wrong. Unfortunately, he could only vocalize it as; "You're acting really weird, dad," which was exactly what he told his father a few days later.

"Am I?" Vegeta asked pleasantly, smiling down at the boy before turning to look at the sights. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, here we are at the park, for one thing. You never take me to the park!"

"That's not true. I took you a month before the tournament."

"Yeah, sure, only because you felt bad 'cause you bloodied my nose!"

He winced, "I told you I was sorry-"

"We-e-e-ll, you never really said you were ever _really_ sorry-"

"Well, I'm saying it now, Trunks. I'm sorry," he put an arm around the boy's shoulders and pulled him against his hip in an informal hug.

The boy fought to get away from him in embarrassment. "And I'm telling _you_, you're acting weird!" he snapped, his cheeks flaming. "It's freaking me out!"

Vegeta laughed and scratched the back of his head and became distracted as he followed the course of a Frisbee across the sky. After a few seconds, he turned back to the boy and remarked, "Well, I don't know what to tell you, Trunks-"

"You're cool enough as you are! You don't have to act like him, y'know?"

For the first time, Vegeta regarded him seriously. "...Act like who?"

Trunks started with: "Like-" before he was interrupted. "Trunks! Over here!" A young voice shouted.

The boy noticed some familiar faces playing catch over in the field and said, "There's Mark and Jason from school. Can I go over and play with them for awhile?"

Vegeta stared down at his hands and looked around the peaceful surroundings of the park like a man coming out of a dream. By the time he managed to get out, "Sure," his son was already racing away to go play with his friends.

Sitting down on a nearby park bench, the Saiyan tried to puzzle out what Trunks had been trying to tell him. He'd been having trouble keeping his mind focused for the last couple of days now; thoughts just kept drifting in and out and he couldn't seem to keep track of them. He should have been bothered by the odd feeling but he felt a curious sense of detachment. Such calm was rare for him; Hell, lately he'd actually even been able to sleep for longer than three or four hours at a time. It wasn't something he really wanted to dissect but, deep down, he knew that Trunks was right; he _was_ acting... 'weird'.

A nearby hotdog vendor caught his eye and he went over and bought one with the works. He took a bite and smiled while he chewed; It was one of the best hotdogs he had ever eaten. It was –

-_Yummy. _The wordflashed through his mind, and he choked on the mouthful and started coughing.

"You okay, fella?" the vendor asked.

Turning to respond, Vegeta caught a glance of himself reflected off of the silver vendor's cart and dropped the rest of the hotdog in shock. His hand went up to his hair where he found only his trademark flame-styled spikes. Not the haphazard mess he had seen in his reflection.

"Fella?" the vendor tried again.

His reflection was his own again. Flustered, Vegeta backed warily away and returned to where Trunks was playing. A group of boys were playing a pick-up game of football and Trunks currently had the ball and was running for a touchdown, bowling over the other boys who were stupid enough to get in his way. It was both an inspiring and depressing sight, Vegeta mused; In a perfect world, the boy would be training among other Elites his age instead of associating with these non-powered weaklings.

While he watched, the figure of Trunks wavered and became another little Saiyan hybrid he immediately recognized.

"Goten?" he muttered, and blinked hard. The lavender-haired youth was back, spiking the ball and executing a victory dance while his friends jeered at him. The boy noticed him looking on and waved enthusiastically.

Too stunned to respond, Vegeta watched helplessly as the boy raced off with his friends down the field to start another game. This time he had become Gohan, and the little boy's thick black hair bobbed in time with his strides.

Vegeta fled for home. He landed in the courtyard and stood alone in the yard for a while, trying to absorb what had happened in the park. At length, he geared up enough nerve and entered the business entrance. He knew that Bulma still very angry with him but he desperately needed her input.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Briefs," the receptionist greeted as he walked in.

"Yeah, good afternoon...uh," he squinted at her as he tried to remember her name.

"Cheryl."

"Cheryl! Right. It just slipped my mind."

"That's quite alright, sir," the woman said, watching him walk by with a pleasant smile on her face. When he went down the stairs, she was immediately on the phone. "Penny? Head's up- Bulma's husband is on his way down. No, he's in a good mood. I AM being serious! Get this: he actually acknowledged my presence!"

Oblivious to the exchange, Vegeta turned down the corridor to enter the executive wing, bypassing the doors to the Research and Development labs. Bulma's secretary, Penny, hung up the phone the instant she saw the Saiyan round the corner. "Hello, Mr. Briefs! How are you today?"

"Fine..." he absently waved a hand in her direction as he struggled with the name.

"I'm Penny, Mr. Briefs."

"Penny! I don't know what's wrong with my blasted memory today," he grumbled as he looked at the closed door to Bulma's office. "Is she busy?"

"She'll be out of the office until 2 p.m." the woman instructed.

"Shit," he whispered under his breath and cast the woman a startled glance. "Uhm, that kind of slipped out..."

"That's quite alright, sir," Penny said, blinking at him in amazement. She had heard her boss's husband release some choicer expletives than that one over the years, but he didn't appear to remember. "Is there anything that I can do for you?"

"No, I don't-" he had begun scratching the back of his head and caught a glance of himself reflected back from the window of Bulma's office. He visibly recoiled in horror.

"Mr. Briefs? Are you alright?" Penny asked, genuinely concerned.

"No," he grumbled, quickly heading back to the stairs. "Not anywhere close-"

"Little buddy!" a voice cried out and Charles McNeal jumped out of a doorway and hugged him. "I heard that you had died- I'm so glad to see you alive and kicking!"

Vegeta was too dumbfounded to respond to the close contact, and Charles wisely backed off before anything could happen. He knew first-hand the Saiyan's penchant for violence and had been on the receiving end of more verbal assaults then anyone else in the entire company. He just shook it off with his customary eccentric enthusiasm. He respected the alien's designing ability with almost cult-like worship, after all; the Saiyan's designs had provided job security for everyone in his department guaranteed to last into the next decade (and secretly, Charles also had a deep attraction for him). "You _are_ okay, aren't you? You're looking pale as a sheet-"

"-Who the hell are you?" Vegeta finally cut in.

The scientist's eyes widened dramatically behind his coke-bottle lenses and, for an instant, he looked as if he was going to cry. "I'm your best buddy! We work together in the lab- Y'know, Research and Development?"

Vegeta mind worked feverishly trying to substantiate what the crazy human was talking about. It came to him like memories out of a fog; McNeal: Bulma's crazy scientist friend. Quickly Charles added, "Well, it isn't like we party together or anything like that-" he became lost in thought for a moment before he shook his head to clear it. "Anyway, my staff and I work on the designs you draw. We flesh them out, develop prototypes and all that. You know all about it, you're always there to criticize what we do-"

Vegeta felt an inexplicable flash of remorse. "I'm sorry-"

Charles gaped at him again. "No, no! It's a good thing, really! It keeps us on our toes! We could actually use some of that callous wit right now. Will you come and take a look at what we've done with your GravTabs so far?"

Completely at a loss, Vegeta trailed along after the peculiar man like a man caught in a bad dream. That comparison actually wasn't too far off the mark. None of this seemed real to him; the scientist and his odd ravings, even his surroundings. The yellow walls seemed to waver and change and become expansive fields and rivers he didn't recognize. He was still dwelling on the strange sensations, idly wondering if the hotdog he had eaten had been drugged, when Charles led him up to a drafting table. "See? What do you think?"

He was looking down at a plan that had handwriting scrawled across it he didn't recognize. The heading was: Gravitational Tabular Ascension Lifts, and included a freehand drawn design that appeared almost as a three-dimensional reference with computations and notations added in all available free space. He touched it wonderingly, as if it were the first time he had ever seen it and, under his breath, he murmured, "Cool."

Charles didn't hear him, he was gesturing to a box that appeared to be floating two feet off of the ground. "I'll show you what's happening with the test module," he said, lifting up the box and quickly backing up. A small circular device about two inches wide, wobbled in the air for a few seconds and then zipped upwards and imbedded itself in the ceiling, joining other holes of equal size. "You see that? It has something to do with the displaced inertia. The little bugger handles the weight-load just fine but when it's removed, it seems to over compensate for the zero pressure. You think there's any way to have an auto shut off attached to the module?" He turned expectantly towards Vegeta.

"Are you talking to me?" the Saiyan asked in confusion.

"Well, of course! You designed the thing. What can we do to fix it?"

Vegeta turned helplessly towards the drafting table and tried to make sense of what he was looking at. Some of the words he was reading didn't even appear to be English and he had trouble associating meanings for words that had more than three syllables. He shook his head and backed away towards the door. "I don't know. I can't help you-"

"Little buddy?" Charles could help but notice that something appeared to be wrong with his idol. "Vegeta? What's wrong?"

"Nothing - everything- I don't know!" Vegeta shouted at him and left the lab before the scientist could come near him.

He exited the building and stood out in the sunlight, trying to get his racing heart rate to settle down. His entire body was vibrating like a coiled spring getting ready to snap. When he looked back towards the building he saw that it, and the rest of the city, had been replaced by a towering green mountain. The vision wavered for a few seconds and then became the Headquarters building again.

"Hey!"

He flinched and looked up and saw a little boy drop down from the sky and land beside him. "What the heck happened? Why did you bail on me?"

"Gohan?" Vegeta blinked and saw Gokou's older boy standing there, appearing about the same age as he had been on Namek. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and this time the boy had changed to Goten.

Trunks looked around and frowned at him. "Dad! Are you tripping out or what? Why did you leave?"

It finally dawned on him who the new arrival truly was. "I'm sorry, Trunks," he relented. It seemed like he had been apologizing a lot today and the look that Trunks passed him was probably echoing his own. "I'm not feeling the greatest. I think I'm going to go lie down for awhile."

"Oh..." the boy blinked at him in surprise. He tried to remember the last time his father had ever confessed to any feeling of weakness and called up a blank. The agitation immediately left his face to be replaced by true concern. "Yeah, sure... sure, dad. I hope you- y'know, feel okay and all."

"I do, too, " the older Saiyan grumbled and turned to leave.

"D'you want me to give mom a call?" the boy offered.

Vegeta actually hesitated and the boy knew that wasn't like his father, either. "No," he said last. "Don't bother her. It isn't serious, I'm just... tired."

"Sure," the boy said again, watching as his father took to the air to go to his room on the third floor. He knew that his folks were currently sleeping in separate rooms at the moment; it didn't take a genius to figure it out that they were probably fighting again. As far back as he could remember, the pair had their screaming matches and slept in separate bedrooms at least five times a year. This was the first time he was beginning to wonder if it was actually serious.

Vegeta landed on the balcony of his quarters and entered through the balcony doors. He went straight to the bed and collapsed backwards on it, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Now that he was alone, his troubled thoughts began to drift off and he could feel himself starting to finally relax. He was actually having trouble remembering what had set him off in the first place. Was it the hotdog?

_-Yummy_, he heard in his mind, making him squeeze his eyes shut.

Or that strange reflection he had seen in the vendor's cart? He had seen it again in the window behind the receptionist's desk.

_What was her name again? Henny? Jenny?_ He couldn't remember and that wasn't like him at all.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked the empty room, scrubbing at his burning eyes. He was having a hard time sorting out his own troubled thoughts; some images were coming in with their usual crystal clarity, while others he didn't recognize were fading in and out like smoke on the wind.

Unable to sleep he went back out on the balcony and sat on the railing, considering the cityscape. At least it should have been the city but more times than not, it became that towering mountain again and the unspoiled green fields and rivers that were at its base. He began to wonder again if the hotdog was the culprit but he had only swallowed one bite and he knew that this odd feeling had been growing inside of him ever since they had returned from Dende's Lookout. At first it had just been unfamiliar dreams, which had faded by the time he ate breakfast. Each day, that sense of odd displacement grew more and more until he began to see things that weren't there. Today had been the worst. It should have seriously worried him but each time he started to feel that old familiar anxiety creep up on him, it faded just as quickly. It was like trying to find a bomb trigger that had gone missing. By the time he actually found it, he could no longer remember what had upset him in the first place...

For the next two hours he stayed where he was and let the visions swim in and out of his mind, almost dozing with a serene calmness he had never known before. In a strange way, he almost treasured this sedated peace of mind that had engulfed his haunted memories and pushed them to the background. No flashbacks of Frieza or the Ginyu Force, or past defeats, or embarrassing situations his pride had problems shrugging off. Just thoughts full of sun-warmed grasses, flowers, and a quiet that was marred only by birdsong.

A car pulled into the compound, interrupting his conflicted musings. Bulma got out, talking at a fevered pace into her cell phone and didn't notice that he was directly above her. Leaning over to try and get her attention, his jaw dropped when he saw the woman who had suddenly replaced his wife. One blink it had been Bulma, and the next it had been-

With a brisk shake of his head, he ran back into his room and tripped over a six-pack of Pepsi. He fell sprawling amid the litter of chocolate bar wrappers, fast food bags, and empty cans. "Fuck!" he shouted, gripping his head and digging the sharp nails into his scalp. "What the hell is happening to me?" It was very similar to how he had felt after he had recovered from Frieza's poison seven years ago and he knew that didn't want to face that torture again. He slammed his fist down on the carpet and then stared at his hand, the anger draining from his face. Mashed into the carpet was a demolished cupcake and icing was smeared along the side of his hand. He licked it off and began salvaging what he could of the demolished dessert.

When he realized what he was doing, he turned away retching. _Since when did he eat garbage?_ Forcing himself to sit up, he stared over at the balcony, no longer sure what it was that had set him off in the first place. _Something he had seen... but what was it?_ Shaking his head, he gave up. All of this thinking was giving him a headache.

Deciding that a long hot shower might help to clear his mind, he went into the bathroom and did an astonished double take when his eyes fell on the mirror over the sink. His reaction was instantaneous and his fist was through the glass and buried deep into the drywall even before he could rationalize the action. Blinking dully, he stared down at the litter of shattered mirror shards, seeing his reflection bouncing back from a hundred different angles. His reflection. Not the person he had first seen.

_...only his... _

His previous anxiety returned with a vengeance and he pulled his hand free. There wasn't a scratch on it but it was shaking quite badly. His mind was starting to swim with those strange images again and in desperation he picked up a shard of glass and clenched his fist around it. The pain was bright and immediate. Blood began to well around his fingers. Pain was something he was familiar with and he was relieved to discover that it helped to chase those odd thoughts away and bring everything back in focus again.

But it wasn't enough. _He needed more..._

* * *

It was finally starting to dawn on Bulma that something might be seriously wrong with her husband. It had been ten days now since they had all returned from the Look-Out and he was still avoiding her like the plague. He wasn't making any fuss about the Gravity Simulator being off-limits and, perhaps the most shocking, her mother had confessed that she had tried to sneak a meal to him and he had given it back, scolding her for not obeying Bulma's wishes.

Trunks had told her of their peculiar journey to the park. It had been such an odd tale that Bulma had been sure that the boy had been making it up until she had run into Charles McNeal down in the lab a few days ago. His version of the irritable Saiyan had sounded suspiciously like the Vegeta of Trunks' story. It was Penny who had solidified the Heiress's concerns for good. Her receptionist had always made it a point to disappear from her desk the instant she got the 'head's-up' call from Cheryl, at the reception desk, that Vegeta was on his way down. When she related her conversation with the normally scathing Saiyan to Bulma this afternoon, her boss finally listened.

Sitting at her desk, Bulma tried to figure out what could be the culprit of her husband's odd behavior. One glaring certainty stood out: He had died. Kami's prophetic vision eight years ago had finally come true. However, he had been wished back along with everyone else at the end of the Buu ordeal but... there was no other way to say it, he was very different. Was it the result of the wish or something else?

When her troubled thoughts could come up with no answer she got to her feet and stepped out of the office. "Penny," she said to her secretary, "I'm stepping out for the rest of the afternoon. I'll have my cell phone with me for anything important, otherwise just take a message."

"Sure, Ms. Briefs. No problem," the redhead said curtly.

An hour later, Bulma was flying over Mount Pazou and landing in the backyard of Gokou and Chi Chi's small home in the country. She saw the fighter practicing his kata in the backyard, with little Goten sitting off to the side and watching his father with rapt attention. "Hiya guys!" she called as she stepped out of the hoverjet.

Goten offered her an enthusiastic wave but Gokou didn't even turn around. He was wearing the bottom half of his gi and the muscles across his back stood out in stark relief as he pantomimed a flurry of punches and kicks. He was breathing heavily and his skin was oily with fresh sweat, glistening in the afternoon sun.

"I said- HI GUYS!" Bulma cheerfully yelled out as she approached the pair.

Gokou whirled in surprise and Bulma took one look at the expression on his face and immediately froze in mid-step. "G-Gokou-?" she said in a timid voice.

The younger fighter's face was dark and menacing, flushed from his efforts and streaked with sweat. He stared at her for a few seconds, looking as if he didn't recognize her, before his expression relaxed a bit. "Oh- Bulma, hi," he offered, adding a faint smile. "How are you?"

"I was going to ask you the exact same thing," she confessed. "Is everything okay?"

To her growing astonishment, he cast the house a dirty glare and that previous irritation tightened up his youthful features again. Looking at his profile, she could plainly see fading scratches across his left cheek. "Just fine and dandy," he said lamely. "Chi Chi and Gohan are in the house, I'm sure they'll be happy to see you."

There was an odd note to his voice that she had never heard before. "Thanks, Gok-" she started but he had turned his back on her again and resumed his practice. For no good reason, Bulma suddenly said, "Vegeta says, 'Hi'." It was an obvious lie but she was curious as to what reaction it might generate.

Gokou stopped moving. He glanced at her over his shoulder and asked. "How's he been?"

"Fine," she lied, eyeing him closely. "Why?"

"No reason," he said, and continued his training as if he had never been interrupted.

The initial dread she'd felt at Capsule Corp. returned with a vengeance and she reluctantly entered the small capsule house, immediately hearing the sounds of weeping and Gohan's soft, consoling voice. She found the older teenager and Chi Chi in the kitchen, seated at the table. The brunette immediately raised her head at Bulma's approach and, before the other woman could attempt a greeting, snapped out: "Vegeta's been acting strange, too. Hasn't he? That's why you're here."

Bulma was staggered and when she admitted, "Yes," Chi Chi immediately burst into fresh tears.

"It's been impossible ever since Gokou came back!" the younger woman said between exasperated sobs. "I waited over seven years for my beloved husband to return to me from the Afterlife and do you know who I got back instead?"

"Who-?"

"YOURS!" Chi Chi screamed at her. "All we've done is fight since we got back home. The things he's said to me-! And he won't spend any time with Gohan or Goten. All that he wants to do is train, and argue, and-and-" she made a choking sound and scrubbed her face with a handkerchief.

"Mom," Gohan put a restraining hand on her shoulder. "This isn't Bulma's fault. Yelling at her isn't going to help anyone."

"WHO SAID I WAS YELLING!" she shouted directly in her son's face. To his credit, Gohan stood his ground and, after a silent stare-down between the two that lasted for all of ten seconds, Chi Chi backed off first. "I'm sorry, Gohan. You can go back to your studies, I'll be alright."

The teen hovered over her indecisively. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. I have to talk to Bulma in private."

_Oh, lucky me_, the heiress thought with dread, watching the teenager leave the room but not before he offered her a plaintive, miserable glance that did little to alleviate her apprehension.

Only once she was positively sure that her oldest son was out of earshot, did Chi Chi ask: "How has Vegeta been treating you?" she managed to speak in a calmer voice than Bulma would have given her credit for, under the circumstances.

"We had a big fight when we got back home from the Lookout," Bulma admitted. "We haven't actually talked since. I think he's deliberately avoiding me."

"That's not like him." It was not a question.

"No. No, it isn't," she said. Vegeta had his moments when he would disappear to nurse a sulk, but she was beginning to realize that this was much different. He had been avoiding her because he didn't want to upset her further and that wasn't like him at all. It was his normal strategy to antagonize her as much as possible. "It's something Gokou would do, isn't it? When you two... bickered?"

Chi Chi offered only a crisp nod and looked away, wiping her red-rimmed eyes. "I knew something was wrong the first night we all got back. I cooked an enormous celebration supper and Gokou only ate a little of it. And that wasn't like him at all! He kept giving me these strange, creepy looks, like I-I was the meal instead-"

Bulma felt the hairs on her arms rise with gooseflesh.

"-I asked him what was wrong but he said he was alright. I believed him until we were alone together. Bulma, he-he bit me..." she motioned self-consciously to her right breast. "... here."

"Oh crap," Bulma sat down heavily in the nearest chair and put a hand over her eyes.

"I scratched his face and told him to get out of our room. For a moment, he looked confused, as if he didn't remember what had happened. And when he apologized, he said... he-he said-"

"What, Chi Chi?"

The tears were coming again but she managed to keep them at bay long enough to rasp out; "He said, '_I'm sorry, Bulma_.'"

There wasn't much conversation after that and even if there were, Bulma wouldn't have been in any shape to contribute. She had let the distance between her and her husband continue for far too many days and she felt a sudden urgency to return home and set things right between them, once and for all. As she piloted the hoverjet home, her cheeks flamed with shame and embarrassment. Somehow, in some unknown way, Gokou had attacked his mate with the same passionate fervor that was Vegeta's trademark. Her husband had bitten her nipple once, when he had been feverish from the V'Nhar, and even though he had left no teeth marks on her since that incident, her breasts were still a focal point of his attentions. Even if Gokou had given her a playful nip (as Bulma suspected), poor Chi Chi would still have had no experience to realize that. Her reaction had been understandable.

But Gokou confusing his wife as _her_? There was no logical explanation for that lapse. In all of their years of traveling together, the only thing that Bulma and the fighter could be accused of was innocuous skinny-dipping together. There had certainly never been any intimate contact between them. Not ever. They had been friends, pure and simple, and more than content to stay that way. _So what the hell--!_

Landing in the courtyard, she was out of the hoverjet even before the engines had fully cycled down. She rushed up the stairs to Vegeta's room and was almost knocked over from the smell that wafted out the second she opened the door. It was the odor of rotten fruit, sour body odor, and something else that she couldn't immediately identify.

Gagging, she rushed to the window and opened it with panicked urgency, savoring the fresh air and looking around the room in growing horror. The Vegeta she intimately knew was close to being a clean freak but this room looked like it had been taken over by a troop of hobos. The floor was covered in a litter of candy wrappers, junk food bags, soda cans, and half-eaten fruit. Unwashed training clothes were strewn about over every available surface and the bed was a tangle of sheets and blankets. Her eyes fell on the pillow and she waded through the garbage to take a closer look at it. There were large spots of blood across its surface, some old, some fresh. When she pulled back the rumpled sheets she dropped them again in a hurry.

"Oh god," she hissed through clenched teeth, backing away from the bed. The sheets and blankets were smeared with gore. From where she was standing, she could hear the fan running in the bathroom and cast the closed door a fearful glance. Forcing herself forward on unsteady legs, her hand wrapped around the doorknob and, after taking a deep breath, she opened it-

-And screamed.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	2. SHATTERED

Mirror, Mirror

© 2006 by Darke Angelus

Part 2 – Shattered

* * *

After her terrifying discovery in Vegeta's bathroom, Bulma exited the foul quarters and raced down the corridor. Her mother had heard her daughter's shriek and looked up sharply when she came pounding quickly down the stairs. "Are you alright?" the blonde asked urgently. The younger woman's face was deathly pale.

"Where's Vegeta? Have you seen him?" Bulma panted.

"Well, not today-"

"Shit!"

"-But he has been going to visit Majin Buu quite a bit lately. Perhaps he's in the atrium-"

Running past her, Bulma raced down the myriad corridors and sprinted out into the spacious interior of the domed headquarters building. The large area was curiously empty and she went over to one of the groundskeepers, asking, "Where's Majin Buu?"

Leaning on his rake, the man tipped his hat back and smiled at her. "You husband has been taking him out sight-seeing this last week. Damnedest sight I ever saw-"

"Do you know where they went?"

"Well, it doesn't seem to be the same place twice but I could have sworn I heard them talking about going to the coast-"

Bulma started to turn away and looked back at the man. "Did you get a good look at Vegeta? Does he look okay?"

"Ms. Briefs, I try to avoid looking that guy in the face, no offense. The last time I did, he damn near chewed my head off-"

"Thanks!" she interrupted and dashed away.

_It was such a long shot,_ she fretted as she piloted her hoverjet along the Pacific coastline beyond the Western Capital. She skimmed along the shore and first headed north but soon noticed that the areas were becoming more and more populated. Majin Buu was supposed to stay out of sight so she turned the small craft around and sped along the coast heading south. She zipped past the Capital, rivulets of nervous sweat trickling down the small of her back, and didn't keep her eye off of the rocky shoreline and beach. That was the reason she didn't get out of the way in time to avoid the body that came crashing in through her windshield.

* * *

Majin Buu was terribly upset but he didn't know how to express the emotion. The first time that Vegeta had come to visit him, he had been ecstatic for the company but by the end of the day, his cheer had diminished significantly. After six days, it had disappeared altogether.

True to his word, the Saiyan took him to places that he had never seen before but the entity had very little time to enjoy it. He quickly discovered that the first time: Vegeta had taken him to a desolate valley with statuesque buttes and he had started to ogle the surroundings only to have a boot slam up between his legs. He didn't have any genitalia to speak of, even his nerve bundles were desensitized to pain, so he just looked over his shoulder at Vegeta and politely inquired: "What you doing?"

"Dancing, you fat fuck!" Vegeta shouted and punched him so hard that his arm disappeared in Buu's pink bulk up to the elbow.

For the next few minutes, Buu tolerated being the sole target of the Saiyan's inexplicable rage. Most of the kicks and punches just tickled, and a few caused no more than a mild irritation. Throughout the attack, Vegeta didn't stop taunting him: "-useless piece of shit! Dumber than a dead cow! Uglier than a molting Kruc'T! Stupider than a-"

That alone started to anger Buu. Steam began filtering through the dorsal holes along the sides of his head and down both arms. When Vegeta phased in to land a punch guaranteed to shatter his breastbone (had he one), Buu caught the fist. "Why you do this? Why you anger Buu?" he asked in dismay.

"Because it's fun, dumbnuts," Vegeta said and spit in his face.

Buu's face scrunched up in anger and his mitten tightened around the Saiyan's hand with crushing force. With a cry of fury he kicked out and felt absolutely no joy as he watched the smaller man fly backwards a distance of over 40 feet to slam into a butte of hard granite. The mountain of rocks collapsed over the Saiyan and all was still for about ten seconds before he crawled out. The most amazing thing of all, he was grinning.

"That's more like it," Vegeta muttered to himself as he rubbed one shoulder.

"Buu sorry!" the pink entity called over to him, holding up his hands. "Buu no want fight!"

"Tough shit, because I do," was all that the alien would offer before attacking again.

Buu did not understand what was happening. He just defended himself against the irrational man as best he could but over time, the insults and taunts began to penetrate his confusion. Incited into a rage, with steam whistling through his holes, he responded to the attack at long last. Every punch, kick, and hit he delivered staggered the Saiyan; bruising skin and muscle, breaking skin and bone. Buu knew he was immortal, he knew he was indestructible, and sadly, he was also very stupid not to realize that Vegeta knew all of that as well-

-And that it was just what the Saiyan had been counting on.

For the last five days the pair battled; each keeping their ki auras low and not projecting any blasts that might attract unwanted attention (from civilians and, particularly, from the Z fighters). Each day lacked the severity of conflict of the day before; not because Buu was reining in his temper at being insulted (he was remarkably easy to goad), but because of Vegeta's steadily deteriorating state. By the sixth day the Saiyan was a wreck; barely able to stand, and it began to register even on Buu's dim intelligence that this whole warped scenario was very, very wrong.

He hesitated from delivering a kick that would have shattered the Saiyan's ribcage and stepped back, shaking his head back and forth like a bewildered child. "No. Nonono-"

"What's wrong? Too-" Vegeta paused to throw up a combination of blood and bile and then continued on as if nothing had happened, "-chickenshit to fight?"

"Buu fight no more!" the entity cried out.

"We'll stop fighting when I say so," the alien snarled, getting slowly to his feet. He fell to one knee with the first attempt, and finally made it up on the second. Barely. He wasn't able to straighten up and limped towards Buu with steady determination. He stared at the mystical creature through one good eye, the other was swollen shut, and blood was pouring from a crooked nose that had been broken three days before. "And I haven't said we're finished yet. I'd suggest you wrap that concept around your tiny, insignificant pea-sized brain. I'm the boss here. Got it?"

Buu wanted to take to the air and fly back to Capsule Corp. but he never paid attention to where he and Vegeta went and always got immediately lost. Humans weren't allowed to see him yet and his only tour-guide was trying to coax him into a fight. He just didn't know what to do. "Buu no hurt NO MORE!" he shouted back.

Vegeta's right eye widened in surprise. "You stupid sack of shit! You're too dumb to have a backbone! You were created to obey and I'm ordering you to fight me!" He moved in like a flash, delivering a punch that actually knocked the bewildered entity off of his feet.

Gritting his teeth, Buu flailed his head tentacle around and clipped the Saiyan across the face, driving him back down to his knees. He was trembling with repressed rage and just as he began to advance on the ailing Saiyan, his arcane senses picked up a familiar presence rapidly approaching. His eyes, narrowed to a spiteful squint, popped open in relief. "Friend is coming. Buu take you to friend!"

Cradling his jaw, Vegeta sneered at the creature with open contempt. "I'm not going anywhere," he slurred through a mouthful of blood.

"Fine!" Buu said, racing towards him, "Then Buu send you to her!" He picked up the wounded Saiyan like a rag and swung him around in a wide arc, throwing him into the sky. Vegeta's outraged bellow didn't end until he smashed through the cockpit window of Bulma's hoverjet.

"Ohmigod- _VEGETA!_" she shrieked, barely having the wits to set the small craft on autopilot before rushing to the back of the cabin where the Saiyan had collided with the storage cabinet. He was out cold and unresponsive and she felt for a pulse along his swollen jaw line. Her trembling fingers eventually found a heartbeat but it seemed alarmingly weak. She was scared to move him but the lay of his body seemed unnatural. When she tried to shift the position of his legs, he released a cry of pain and began coughing up great gouts of blood, so much so that she rolled him onto his side so that he wouldn't choke to death.

_Blood...Oh god, there was so much blood!_ She thought numbly, watching the stain beneath her husband spread out along the carpet in a widening pool. She rushed back to the cockpit and saw a sight that immediately enraged her.

"What did you do to him, you monster!?" she screamed at Buu, who was sheepishly peering in at her from the shattered windshield. "He's dying! What the hell is wrong with you!"

Buu's mittened hands wrung together in anguish as he stammered over a reply. At the sight of Bulma's rage, he did what most super powered beings did when exposed to that force of nature:

He burst into tears.

* * *

Twelve hours later, Bulma was sitting beside Vegeta's hospital bed waiting for him to wake up. It was an eerie sense of déjà vu, reminding her of the first (but certainly not the last) time she had made this vigil; back when they had been little more than acquaintances and he had been recovering from the gravity simulator explosion. The state that he was now in made that event look like a minor incident. Just at first glance, she knew that his wounds would be too much for the Capsule Corporation infirmary to handle and she had called ahead to the Capital General Hospital. There had been emergency staff waiting for her when she had landed on the roof of the building.

"Mrs. Briefs! What happened to him?" the doctor asked her as they quickly wheeled the stretcher into the elevator. Vegeta was still unconscious and unresponsive to the nurses' and interns' efforts.

"Car-car accident," was all she could manage to get out, trailing along after the harried medical team like a woman caught in the grips of her worst nightmare.

She was holding the doctor's report in her hands now, practically committing every injury to memory:

_-multiple concussions, detached retina, broken nose, broken jaw, two crushed vertebrae, one slipped disk, five fractured ribs, a perforated lung, ruptured spleen, two bruised kidneys, one broken collarbone, one dislocated shoulder, broken pelvis, wrenched knee, sprained ankle-_

"Oh God," she moaned, forcing her eyes away from the paper and struggling with an onset of nausea. She put her face in her hands until the feeling passed and then looked over at the sight of Vegeta's bandaged arms. It had taken over sixty-eight stitches to close the deepest of the criss-crossed gashes covering his fingers, hands and forearms. From what she could gather from the Room of Horrors his bathroom had become, he had been taking pieces of the broken mirror and cutting himself with the glass. In several spots, it looked like he had even begun flaying off his own skin. The damage had been hidden by his usual elbow-length gloves and some of the older gouges had started to become infected with neglect.

Bulma knew that the Saiyan had a penchant towards injuring himself in training but this was on a whole different, disturbing level. This was just mindless, self-inflicted torture. He hadn't been trying to slit his wrists; according to the doctor assigned to his care, he had deliberately missed the veins, so it wasn't a suicide attempt. She just couldn't wrap her brain around Vegeta's state of mind to want to subject himself to such agony.

She couldn't even entirely blame Majin Buu for all of this, either. On the frantic trip back to Capsule Corporation, she had learned that the Saiyan had deliberately goaded the entity into attacking him. He had even told Buu that if he told anyone about what they were doing, particularly to her, he would find himself homeless. Desperate for friendship, the creature had reluctantly gone along with it. Bulma even suspected that Buu had only used a minimum amount of force but that Vegeta had made no effort to protect himself from the attacks. He had wanted to get injured.

But why?

She saw the corner of his mouth twitch and grabbed for one bandaged hand. "Vegeta? It's Bulma. Can you hear me?" He had been in surgery up until two hours ago to repair the worst of his injuries. A heavy bandage covered his left eye and his nose was splinted. Add the band-aids, stitches, and general swelling, he looked almost unrecognizable. She watched the readouts on the EKG begin to speed up as he fought towards consciousness. "Vegeta-"

His right eye snapped open and his body gave a convulsive spasm. She put her hands on his chest and yelled down at him; "It's alright! You're in the hospital! Just relax!"

He looked around in panic before fixing on her, focusing with difficulty. He immediately recoiled away, as if he didn't recognize her. The cords on his necks were straining with tension but gradually, he started to relax. On the monitor, his racing heart rate began to slow down. He tried to talk and made only garbled sounds.

"You jaw is broken, Vegeta. You can't talk. Can you... use your mind? Are you strong enough to project?"

He slowly absorbed his surroundings and his heart rate began speeding up again. _-... place of poisons... pain... prison again?_

She heard his weak, disjointed thoughts and tried to reassure him as best she could; "You're in Capital General Hospital. You're going to be okay, just calm down. We need to talk things out. It's serious."

He tried to move again and his face pinched with pain. – _woman... don't need to tell me the facts… i know it's bad news,_ he projected to her, his mental voice was weak and fuzzy with pain and lingering sedation.

Nevertheless, she read him the list, finishing with; "-The doctor said it's a miracle that you're not paralyzed from the waist down. As it is, it'll be over three weeks before you'll even be allowed to walk."

He rolled his eye in disgust and glanced towards the door. _– trunks...?_

"He doesn't know anything's happened. It's barely seven o'clock in the morning. When I get home, I'll tell him that you're taking a-a vacation-"

_- a vacation_, he rolled his eye again.

"What else would you have me tell him? That you were trying to have Majin Buu kill you all over again?" she snapped.

_- it wasn't like that_, he said in a defensive tone. _– it was- we just- we were just sparring-_

"-Spare me your bullshit and give me some damned credit for a change. I got the story straight from Buu. Another day of baiting him and he would have killed you, and it wouldn't even have really been his fault. What the hell were you thinking!?"

He offered her a lame, one-armed shrug, and looked away. She leaned over him until their noses were almost touching and he could plainly see that she wasn't just worried, she was brilliantly furious. He recognized that determined expression with acute dread. "I'm not leaving until I get an explanation, you stupid Saiyan. Do you hear me?"

His eye narrowed at the use of the racial slur and his lips compressed into a rigid straight line of defiance.

"Still won't talk, huh? How's this for an incentive?" She held up a Senzu bean, "Chi Chi gave me this. You could be up walking and talking in just a few minutes-"

He held up one bandaged arm, the exposed fingertips straining for the magical bean, and she deliberately pulled it beyond his reach. "No, not yet. We need to talk first."

His pale face flushed with anger. His mouth worked to try and talk before he gave up and touched her mind in frustration: _– you're going to hold it ransom?_

"Yes."

_- you bitch!_

She actually smiled at the insult. "Finally! There's a glimpse of the Saiyan prince I married. What the hell happened to you, Vegeta?"

His right eye narrowed in spite, his lips set in a stubborn, bloodless line, and she suggested quietly; "It was the Fusion, wasn't it?"

Shock registered on his damaged face; he was unable to even project his stunned thoughts to her. She knew she was right; his face was guilty and embarrassed and enraged all at the same time.

"The Potara earrings were meant to be permanent," she continued, "Creating an amalgam of you and Gokou, forever, but being inside of Buu reversed the effects. Because of that, there were side-effects, weren't there?"

_- yes_, he admitted reluctantly, his mental voice was shaken and hoarse with emotion.

"I saw Gokou earlier and he was... different. He barely stopped training long enough to talk to me. He's hardly associating with Chi Chi or his children. He-he's acting like-like..."

_- me_, he whispered, closing his eye in shame.

"And you like him."

_-NO! i won't tolerate it... i-i won't allow it,_ he was trying to shake his head back and forth but the neck brace he was wearing prevented the action. _– i won't have that third-class clown in my head! I WON'T!_

Her hands were on his chest again, trying to calm him down. "Take it easy-"

_-I will NOT take it easy!_ He sent fiercely, making her flinch. _– How can I relax when I'm remembering people and places I've never even seen before? I can picture you as a teenager- I never knew you as a teenager! When I look at Trunks I see Gohan or Goten and when I look at you-!_ His flush deepened and he had to look away from her.

"-you see Chi Chi," she finished for him. "That's why you've been avoiding me. Is that why you shattered the mirror in your room? Because when you looked in it you saw Gokou's reflection? Not yours?"

He didn't say anything but the anguish in his face answered the question for her.

"Why did you start cutting yourself, Vegeta? Why did you force Buu to attack you day after day?"

His terse silence continued but she chose to wait it out, unmoving from his side. It could have been minutes or hours before he finally told her; - _The pain kept me grounded. It was the only thing that was familiar to me-_

"...Pain," she echoed from between trembling lips.

_- I didn't have to think about anything else_, he finished.

A period of awkward silence fell between the two before she was able to find her voice again. "If-if I give you the Senzu, you have to promise that you won't do that to yourself anymore."

_- I... _He thought back to the alien memories that had plagued him, to that terrible feeling of disassociation with his own body. _- I can't make that promise._

"Then you're not getting it," she said flatly, putting the treasured bean back in her pocket and getting to her feet. She turned in preparation to leave.

_-Woman!_

"I'm not doing this to punish you, Vegeta. Really, I'm not," she said, glancing back at him. She was losing her battle with her emotions and her blue eyes were swimming with tears. "But I saw all of the blood in the bathroom, I saw the bloody shards of glass and the scraps of skin- Your skin! You're obviously not in your right mind and if keeping you confined to this bed is the only way I can make sure that you'll stay safe, then that's what I'm goh-going to do!" She started to cry and left the room at a brisk pace, unable to tolerate the sight of her bruised and broken husband any more.

Vegeta was absolutely thunderstruck. He tried to get out of the bed and it felt like his hips and back were rigged with electric shocks. He was encased in a full body cast to give his back time to heal and right now the plaster was stronger than he was. Releasing a choked gurgle of pain, he tried to pull off the oxygen mask, but the bandages on his hands were bulky and his fingers weren't coordinated yet. He pounded the mattress in frustration.

The machine beside him beeped and a monotonous electronic voice droned out; "Blood pressure has exceeded acceptable parameters. Sedation pre-dose being administered-"

A heavy heat began flowing through the Saiyan's right arm. When he tried to rip out the needle inserted into the vein, he found his other arm already unresponsive. That warmth spread quickly throughout his body, numbing him to all sensation.

"-Sedation sequence finished. Sweet dreams," the machine chirped.

_- it's installation 15 all over again_, he thought as he unwillingly tumbled down into darkness. - _... i'm a prisoner..._

* * *

Bulma heard those last plaintive words drift through her mind from where she had collapsed into the nearest chair, and guilty tears streamed down her cheeks. She stared down at the Senzu bean in her hand and clenched her fist around it, shaking her head. She didn't dare heal him. Not yet. Not until they could both figure out a way to conquer this newest danger.

_But he's in pain, he's suffering_, she thought miserably. _How can I do this to him?_

There was no answer that could offer her any kind of relief. By the time she got home it was almost 7:30 in the morning and her mother was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. She had the large grill out and was making a second load of pancakes when she noticed her daughter come inside. "Good morning, dear. Pulled a late night in the office, did we? Such devotion!" she spouted cheerfully. "I swear that you and Vegeta are two sides of the same coin! I've made him a plate of pancakes. Can you call him and tell him they're ready?"

She was motioning to Vegeta's usual place setting where a plate of pancakes, at least fifteen high, was stacked. When Bulma's silence stretched on, she said; "I know that you said I shouldn't cook for him, but he's been looking so haggard these last few days-"

Her mother had noticed Vegeta's deterioration before she had. That was it. Bulma burst into tears and went over and hugged her mother like she was a child again, gripping her apron and shuddering against her. In halting sobs, she told the other woman what had happened and it wasn't long before Mrs. Briefs was crying as hard as her daughter. The blonde had always had a peculiar sort of attraction for the surly alien, and it was mystifying that Vegeta had never once berated her for the unwanted attention. No one was ever sure why.

"It's bad, mother," Bulma choked out, scrubbing her face with a paper towel when the torrent had passed. "Broken bones, pulled muscles, contusions, you name it. I can heal him but I don't know if I should." She showed the other woman the Senzu bean.

"Bulma! If he's in pain and you can do something about it, then why won't you?!"

"He's safe where he is. He can't go anywhere. He can't hurt himself anymore. I think that's what he needs most." She wearily shook her head, "I just don't know. He needs help, mom-"

"Who needs what?" Trunks yawned, shuffling into the kitchen still half-asleep. His lavender hair was an uncombed mess and he was wearing the bottom half of his pajamas and one slipper. He was definitely not a morning-person; a trait he had inherited from his mother. His eyes were at half-mast but there was nothing wrong with his nose, and it led him straight to Vegeta's stack of pancakes.

"Good morning, Trunks!" Bulma gushed, kissing him on the cheek and pushing him down into the nearest chair. "These are all for you, sweetie."

"They are?" His eyes opened at last. "Wow! What's the occasion?" he asked, drenching the mountain of pancakes with strawberry jam and immediately spearing his knife and fork into the crimson mess.

Bulma poured him a glass of orange juice and then sat down at the table across from him. "Hon, there's something you have to know- About your father."

"I'll, uh, go make the beds," Mrs. Briefs said, and made a quick exit.

Trunks watched her leave in confusion and then his blue eyes went back to his mother, noting her flushed, harried appearance and the fact that she was still wearing the same outfit from the day before. All traces of sleep immediately dissolved from his face to be replaced by concern. "What is it, mom? What happened?"

Bulma was struck dumb, unable to speak for a moment as she stared into the face of her son; a boy, despite his fairer looks, who was the younger version of his stricken father. "Trunks, he's... gone away, for awhile."

"What?"

"A-a vacation, I guess you could call it," she tried to smile but it was a wasted effort and she turned away. "He'll be back. Real soon..."

Trunks tried to absorb this information and processing it took a few minutes longer than it should have. Blame the early morning hour. Breakfast forgotten, he got up and went over to his mother and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Mom, you don't have to lie to me. I'm not a little kid anymore."

Bulma's eyes widened. "Trunks? What-what are you talking about. I said-"

"I know that you two have been sleeping in separate rooms for awhile. I saw how he treated you before the tournament. I'm not an idiot. You two are getting a-a divorce, aren't you?" His voice broke at the end and he cleared his throat and plunged on; "I mean it's, like, okay if you are. A lot of my friends at school... they- their parents-"

Bulma pulled him close and hugged him and, unlike out on the battlefield with his father, Trunks did not fight this gesture of assurance and love. He hugged her back, being mindful of his strength, and self-consciously wiped his eyes when they parted. Bulma held his shoulders and knelt down to look at him directly in the face, saying; "Your father and I haven't separated, Trunks. Yes, we're having some problems _(that's the understatement of the century, she thought)_, but we're working through them. Together."

"Then why's he on a vacation?" Trunks asked in dismay.

Caught in her own lie, Bulma could only say; "Everything will be all right. I promise."

If there was one thing that Trunks could boast was that his mother had never lied to him and he let her words sway his insecurities. For now. There was still something wrong, something that she wasn't telling him, but he trusted her with all of his heart and soul and relented. She was the adult here, and a touted genius. If anyone could work through a problem, it was her. He returned to his seat and stared apathetically at the cold, soggy stack of pancakes, his previous enthusiasm forgotten.

That was, until his grandmother made a miraculous return and began cooking up a fresh batch for him. It was amazing how resilient children were. "You should try and catch up on some sleep, dear," she told her daughter. "Working all night can take a lot out of you."

"Yes, mother," Bulma said, giving Trunks another peck on the cheek before she left.

Tired to the bone, she went to her bedroom to try and catch a few hours sleep before returning to the hospital for the afternoon visitation. She sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, staring longingly at Vegeta's side. Almost two weeks apart now. It was actually much longer than that. When the Saiyan had found out that Gokou was going to participate in the Tournament, he had practically moved into the gravity simulator for the next two months. There had been no intimacy between them for that entire time, not even the night before the Tournament. Just him and his blasted training-

_I saw how he treated you before the tournament. I'm not an idiot,_ Trunks had just told her. Had she thought that she had fooled him with all of her prancing around? Acting as if everything was still hunky-dory even when, in truth, things were crumbling apart? She had known that her relationship with Vegeta was fading fast; helpless and unable to prevent their growing distance apart. Right before the tournament she had to accept the truth: He didn't love her any more. As a result, in the darkest hours of the night as she slept alone in their bed, that "D" word began to creep into her deepest thoughts. She didn't discourage it from doing that, either...

She backhanded the lamp on the nightstand in sudden anger and felt absolutely no sense of satisfaction when she looked down at the broken ceramic. She picked up a piece, ran her finger along the edge, and lightly ran it along the back of her arm, producing a light scratch. Not deep enough to bleed but it still stung. Vegeta had methodically sliced both arms to ribbons and hadn't betrayed any indication that he was in pain.

_- The pain kept me grounded. It was the only thing that was familiar to me_, he had confessed to her.

"Oh God!" She dropped the piece of lamp and cupped her face in her hands, wondering what was going to happen to him. What was going to happen to them _both_...?

As she compulsively searched for an answer, sleep was forgotten.

* * *

Six hours later, she appeared at the hospital for afternoon visiting hours. She found Vegeta awake and alert in his bed. As she had expected, he was also something else:

Livid.

He no more than took one look at her when the monitoring machine beside him detected a spike in his blood pressure and drugged him again before he could get out one word. When the doctor assigned to his care found out about it, he informed her that such variations of blood pressure at this stage in his recovery could be detrimental to his recovery. Like a little girl caught doing something wrong in school, he ordered her to go home.

Twenty-four hours later, Bulma stubbornly returned to his room, hovering around his slumbering form like an anxious wraith. She didn't need any type of a bond to tell her that her husband was furious with her for trapping him like this.

"-But what else can I do?" she muttered by his bedside, nervously playing with the Senzu bean between her fingers. She was a pale and harried shell of her former self, unable to sleep, barely able to eat, plagued by guilt and concern for her ailing mate.

He finally gave a low groan and began to stir. There was a band aide across the bridge of his nose and a smaller bandage over his injured left eye. The right one snapped open and immediately focused on her and right away, the sedation module chirped: "Blood pressure is beginning to approach pre-established parameters-"

She jumped to her feet and shut the device off before it could deliver the next debilitating dose. "I can't do this anymore, it isn't fair," she said.

_- my jailer finally sees reason_, came a low growl deep in her mind. When she looked down at him, she hadn't seen such hatred in his face since their days on Namek.

"I'm not your jailer," she said in a level voice.

_- Could have fooled me. Look where I am._

"This is your fault you're here. You did this to yourself. Stop blaming me and accept some responsibility for once in your miserable life!"

_- I know why I'm here. I also know you can get me out, but you won't._

"That's because you won't give me the promise I'm asking for. It's not a big request but you're being your usual damned stubborn-"

He passed her a frustrated wave of his bandaged arm._ - Turn the fucking machine back on_, he growled at her. – _At least I'll be spared your eternal bitching-_

Bulma suddenly slapped him. It wasn't hard, barely a tap, but his expression was frankly astonished. Before he could collect his thoughts to manage a response she cut in with: "You have to see things from my point of view, Vegeta! You were deliberately hurting yourself. What else am I supposed to do?"

He didn't answer her.

"All I'm asking is that you not do that to yourself anymore!" she shouted at him in desperation. "Why is that so hard for you to agree to?"

_- What does it matter? Why don't you go off and watch Divorce Court and leave me in peace?_

Her blue eyes widened in shock and, for an instant, guilt. She thought that Trunks might have voiced his concerns to his father, but knew that was impossible. Very cautiously, she asked him; "...What just possessed you to being up _that_?"

_- I know you were thinking about it. _

"Not... true," she said weakly, sitting down in the nearest chair. "Not-not now-"

_- No. But when I was in training for my battle with Kakarrot-_

"What do you expect?! You abandoned me for that fucking tournament," she hissed with alarming venom. "You didn't have a kind word for me for those two months. You wouldn't even touch me! I was starting to hate you."

_-Good, it was working then..._ He managed one curt nod despite the neck brace and looked over at the television before she lunged towards him and grabbed both sides of his head.

"What did you say?!" she yelled down into his face. "What the hell are you talking about? Did you treat me like that on purpose? Why would you do such a terrible thing?!"

He fixed her with a chilling glare – _You knew the date of Kami's vision was near just as I did. I wanted to ensure you would move on. I knew I wasn't coming back alive from that battle. _

"Gokou would never have killed you-"

The sudden harsh look he passed her silenced her. _– Everyone thinks the Desperation Attack I used to try and finish Buu was a spur of the minute idea._ He gave as much of a shake of the head as the neck brace allowed. _– It wasn't. I came up with that strategy over a month ago. I'd planned on taking Kakarrot to the grave with me, one way or the other-_

"_!!GOKOU WAS ALREADY DEAD, YOU IDIOT!!"_ she screamed directly down into his face. "He was only back on the Earth for 24 hours!"

_- You're hurting my ears-_

"SHUT UP!" she gripped the pillow on both sides of his head until her fingernails dug into the fabric with a death grip. "You put me through hell for those two months, you selfish prick! Why would you do something like that? What was the damned point of it all?!"Her brilliant blue eyes radiated rays of chilling fire and they bore down into Vegeta's bloodshot black one, demanding an explanation.

_-Because I love you_, came the calm response.

She recoiled as if he had physically slapped her. Her mouth worked in shock but no sound came out. She took a step away from the bed and regarded him as if he were a stranger. "You-you... what?" she whispered.

_- I meant it. _He tapped his temple with his finger; - _Blame it on the residue of Kakarrot's sentimentality, but it's true. I love you, Bulma. And I knew it was time to let you go_.

"I-I don't understand..."

_- I was going to die- one way or another. I knew it was going to happen and I also knew that a 'selfish prick' like me didn't deserve to have someone like you pining away for me. Most importantly, YOU didn't deserve that._

"Vegeta-"

_- But I wasn't counting on being brought back. I'm not the man I used to be. I ... don't know who I am anymore, and I don't want you here to see me like this._

Bulma knew about Dende's words to Shenron: _"Bring back everyone who had died on Earth, except for the evil ones."_ Vegeta had been spared from eternal damnation, and all because of an aborted Potara Fusion that had given him just enough of Gokou's kindly spirit to be deemed acceptable by the Great Dragon. It was just as he was telling her now; Vegeta, The evil Prince of the Saiyans, was no more.

_So who was he?_ There was so much pain and confusion to his metal sending that she realized not even he knew the answer and it was tearing him apart. Violence and sadism had defined the majority of his life; the memories were still there but the ambitions had been replaced by another man's feelings of remorse. The two emotions, among others equally unfamiliar, were like oil and water, unable to merge, and it was tearing him apart right down to the core of his being: The evil man he had been, now sharing the same space with his righteous rival.

"We'll work through this crisis, Vegeta. Just like we have before-"

– _I won't ask you to stick around and nurse me back to health, Bulma. Not this time. Not again. You deserve better-_

Unable to hear anymore, she cut in with: "You're not thinking clearly right now. Things will work themselves out. They always do. All you have to do is promise me that you won't cut yourself anymore. After that, we can go-"

–_I just said that I love you!_ He shouted at her. _Do you need any more proof than that to finally understand that something is seriously wrong with me? How can I make a promise to you when I don't even know who I am anymore?_

"You have to see things from the bright side-"

Exasperated, he looked away from her. –_ I'm through talking. I'm tired. Go home, Bulma._

"But-"

_- Please_, he said and squeezed his eye shut.

She stood helplessly from her position beside the bed, gearing up for a tirade when a nurse entered the room and took quick stock of the equipment. "Did you turn this off, Mrs. Briefs?" she asked, examining the sedation module.

"I-I- uh..."

The nurse flashed her a disapproving glare and turned it back on. The machine released a shrill whistle and the electronic voice immediately buzzed; "Blood pressure has far-exceeded acceptable parameters. Sedation pre-dose now being-"

Bulma couldn't bear to watch him go through this again. Looking down, she stared at the Senzu trapped in her sweaty palm and forced herself to place it gently upon his chest. Before succumbing to the drugs, Vegeta squinted at the bean and then looked up at her.

"I love you, too," she whispered, and kissed him directly on the mouth. His eye drifted closed during the tender act just as the module trilled: "-Sedation sequence finished. Sweet dreams." Bulma reluctantly left the room with mixed emotions. She realized that she had either given him his freedom or sealed his doom, and she was too confused to know what to do about either scenario.

* * *

For that entire evening, Bulma lied on her side of the bed and gripped her cell phone in one trembling hand. She was waiting for the stunned call from the hospital that would be raving on about Vegeta's miraculous recovery.

She knew that he wouldn't be able to chew the Senzu bean but he had several broken teeth during his skirmishes with Buu that he could slip it through one of the gaps and swallow it whole. It would probably take much longer for his system to heal as the bean broke down in his stomach, but the process would be certainly finished by now. Would he come home? She had kept him trapped in a hospital bed against his will; severing Sihs'kar- his trust in her. Would he forgive her or give up on her? He was so different now she had no way of predicting what he might do.

_- I love you_, he had told her. Finally! The proclamation that she had so longed to hear from her husband at long, long last! She should have felt vindicated that her patience had finally won out; Flattered that she had finally tamed the feral Prince. The words should have filled her with joy and hope for their future together.

Instead, they scared her half to death. It was like some twisted deathbed confessional and those three little words followed her down into her troubled sleep and haunted her dreams.

There was no call from the hospital that entire night. When she went down to breakfast the following morning, she faced her parents and Trunks and tentatively asked; "Has anyone seen Vegeta?"

The boy's eyes brightened. "He's coming home today?"

_I hope so_, she thought and forced a smile on her pale face. "Yes, he should be arriving soon..."

"Cool," he piped up, and attacked his scrambled eggs with renewed gusto.

She went downstairs to her office, glowering at the stack of proposals, forms, and messages that were stacked on her desk. She had been neglecting her duties as the Company President and this day was no different. Clearing aside some debris, she found the phone and called the hospital to find out when Vegeta had left the building.

Her eyes widened when she was informed that he was still there.

* * *

When she burst into the room less than fifteen minutes later, she found him still in his hospital bed, placidly watching the television and sucking on a glass of water through the straw. She was out of breath from her mad rush to the hospital and barely able to believe it when he looked over at her, completely unfazed by her sudden appearance. He was still in his body cast, still wearing his bandages and splints-

"You didn't take the Senzu," she choked out, glancing at the bean lying on the nightstand beside the hospital bed. "Why?"

_- Why bother? What good would it do?_ he asked listlessly.

She looked at him as if she didn't understand the question. "It would heal you! You wouldn't have to suffer your injuries anymore."

_- The Senzu would heal my body but what about up here?_ He pointed to his head. _– That's the part that's damaged the most and the Senzu won't help it._

"How do you know that?"

_- I just do_, he said and looked away. – _So why bother taking it if I can't be whole again?_

"How about for Trunks? For me? We miss you, Vegeta. We want you to come back home."

He snorted. _– What's home to me now? Capsule Corp.? Or some hovel at the base of Mount Pazou?_

She sat back in exasperation. "You're not making any sense. This is no different than when Frieza's poison damaged your mind. You just need some time to shake it off-"

He gripped his head and raged: _- It's been two fucking weeks! It's not getting any better!_

"You have to give it time," she persisted.

_- Even if the memories fade, I'll still no longer be who I used to be. Instead of being an Elite, I'm now some bastardized hybrid of Third-class trash. I feel like I've been rolled around in manure and that feeling is inside of me! I can't get it out! _

The monitoring equipment released a beep and stated: "Blood pressure has just exceeded acceptable parameters-"

_- FUCK!_ Vegeta shouted in frustration.

Bulma ran around to the side of the bed and shut the machine off before it could finish its sedation sequence. As it was, he still received a hefty dose of the narcotic and she cradled his face between her hands as he struggled to stay awake. "You're going to be okay, Vegeta. Do you hear me? We're going to get through this together."

His eyelid fluttered and he focused on her with difficulty. _-why do you worry so much about me?_ he asked her bleakly. _- why do you even bother to care?_

"Vegeta, not again-"

_- you'd be better off with kakarrot_, he mumbled, _- i saw how things were between you two... maybe a wish can set things right._

_It was the drug talking_, Bulma told herself as the Saiyan continued his bewildered mental rambling. He was more asleep than awake, randomly projecting thoughts that he normally kept hidden and buried. For the first time since he had crashed through the windshield of her hoverjet, she felt chilled to the bone.

_- he'd treat you better than I ever could... you'd be happier with him,_ he persisted. _– if you want to begin the rite of divorce... i won't stop you-_

She lightly slapped his unmarked cheek and said directly, "I won't hear one more damned thing about a divorce! You are my husband, Vegeta. I love you! You're Trunks' father. This has nothing to do with Gokou. He's always leaving his family behind for some stupid reason or another. You? You are always right here."

He searched her face for any trace of deception and she watched as a tear spilled from his one good eye and tracked slowly down his bruised cheek, _-... i haven't got anywhere else to go..._ he confessed in a small voice.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	3. PICKING UP THE PIECES

Mirror, Mirror

© 2006 by Darke Angelus

Part Three – Picking up the Pieces

* * *

The last little part of Bulma that had remained unchanged through what her mother called "The Three M's" (maturity, matrimony, and motherhood) was firmly convinced that the Senzu would solve all of her and Vegeta's problems. This carefree, self-indulgent, optimistic spirit had sustained her since childhood against more troubles and conflicts than she cared to count. She had battled monsters and demons, courted superheroes, and made wishes with magical Dragonballs; always convinced by the voice of the little spirit inside of her that things would turn out all right, just like in the romance novels and the movies she adored.

It should have ended happily ever after. But it didn't.

When his disorientation passed, Vegeta swallowed the Senzu bean readily enough and together they waited in tense silence for the legume to be broken down in his stomach and the healing to begin. It took almost an hour. At the end of it, he was spitting out the wires that had been used to keep his broken jaw shut. The bruises and scratches faded. The stitches drifted off of his bare arms like stiff cobwebs. When he raised his head to look at her, both of his eyes were clear and alert.

Bulma dared to ask the question. "Did it work?"

He considered her a few seconds longer and then flinched, as if her face had changed. He slowly shook his head. "I told you it wouldn't," he said roughly. Together they left the hospital, neither of them knowing what else they could possibly do. His body had been perfectly healed but his psyche- his fragile, vulnerable mind had been usurped by a foe he knew all to well and loathed as much as he respected.

By the time they got back to Capsule Corporation, his stress and confusion was back as if the last two days had never happened. His head was in his hands, the nails digging into his scalp, and he was breathing quickly through his nose in exaggerated snorts of frustration. When Bulma gently grabbed his wrist he rounded on her with a snarl and then backed off, visibly shaking. She could almost see him split right down the middle: one half the feral prince, the other her childhood friend. Both sides struggling for dominance.

"We're going to get through this," she promised him in a firm voice. It was a tone she often used with Trunks and the irony was not lost on her. "Everything is going to be all right. Do you hear me, Vegeta?"

His mouth twitched but he made no reply. Instead, he shook his arm free and exited the hover car without looking back.

Bulma's unease intensified.

* * *

He spent most of the day pacing the headquarters building like caged tiger. Bulma had sent Majin Buu off to Mr. Satan's mansion. She knew that Vegeta had purposely goaded the entity during their violent clashes; wanting- _needing_ the physical pain of the beatings to block out his mental confusion. She didn't want to risk it happening again. The Saiyan was upset about it when she told him and stormed off in a sulk. When she looked for him later, she saw him tending to a small salt-water fish tank in the library. There were numerous tanks of various sizes scattered around the building, all filled with rare and exotic fish that he had collected over the years. The tanks had started to become neglected while he struggled with his post-Potara fusion crisis, and she was reassured to see him finally returning back to his old hobby. Relaxing a little, she left him alone and went downstairs to try and get caught up on her office work.

By the time Trunks returned home from school, Vegeta was fully engrossed in his work. It had been a little confusing at first and he had almost given up the chore until the names of the specific breeds of fish had finally started to return(painted glassfish, mixed fruit tetras and bizarrely colored "blood" parrot cichlids, to name just a few), their feeding instructions, how to test the water, and properly clean the tank. Being a desert breed, he found the movements of the plants and fish in the water to be quite relaxing and getting back into the routine was starting to calm him down at last...

"Dad!" Trunks called as he entered the living room, unbuckling his backpack and throwing it to the floor where it landed with a loud thump. He wore a pack big enough for a high school linebacker and it was filled with about sixty pounds of books and other gear. He barely noticed the weight.

He ran over to his father and was about to hug him when Vegeta snatched him by the head and held him off at arm's length. "There'll be no more of that nonsense, boy."

Trunks stepped back, coloring a little from the rebuttal. "So, I see that _you're_ back," he muttered.

Vegeta looked over at him and frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter," Trunks said under his breath. He headed upstairs to his room to get out of his school clothes.

Vegeta stared after him in confusion for several minutes and then went back to feeding his fish, lost in deep thought.

The boy was still subdued when the entire family sat at the dining table for the evening meal, despite Bulma's attempts to draw him out. Still preoccupied by his own thoughts, Vegeta remained largely quiet, picking languidly at the various fares that Mrs. Briefs had prepared in celebration of his return. He didn't feel much like celebrating, truth to tell. His head was starting to ache from the strain of keeping Kakarrot's memories at bay (it was working but only as long as he concentrated on what he was doing). The way he had treated Trunks earlier bothered him in a way he couldn't articulate.

_He was upset_, he rationalized privately while Trunks and Bulma talked about school. _I pushed him away and he was upset by it. _

_Worse than that, Vegeta, you hurt him_, came Gokou's voice, as clear as if he was speaking in his left ear. Vegeta almost dropped his fork and only Mrs. Briefs noticed the fumble.

_Get out of my head, Kakarrot_, Vegeta growled, wondering if the foolish Saiyan was using telepathy.

He quickly got his answer: _Nuh-uh, can't do that. I live in here too, ol' buddy. 1-2-3/ I'm a part of you / You're a part of me. We're roomies!_

_Shut up,_ Vegeta seethed. This time he did drop his fork.

"Vegeta, honey?" Mrs. Briefs asked.

_You need to give Trunks a great big hug and tell him you're sorry. That's what he needs. Tell him you love him. Aw heck, why don't you just give him a kiss on the cheek while you're at it! You know you can do it. With me inside of you now, it's easy!_

Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut. _Shut. UP!_

While that internal debate raged on unnoticed, Bulma laughed delightedly at something Trunks said, "Really? Your teacher actually thinks that you might skip a grade ahead in school? That's wonderful! You have to tell your father!"

His young face glowing with pride, Trunks turned around in his chair. "Hey dad, did you hear? My teacher said-"

"SHUT UP!" Vegeta screamed. "I don't want to hear any more of your fucking bullshit! Just SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Trunks mouth closed with a snap. He didn't notice that Vegeta was shouting down at his plate, or that his eyes were closed. He took every word as a personal barb through the heart and left the table at a run.

Shaking his head like a man coming out of a spell, Vegeta looked at the shocked, astonished faces staring at him from around the table. "What?" he asked defensively.

* * *

"I think I finally got him settled," Bulma said, walking into the bedroom later that evening. "He's still very upset. I think you should go talk to him."

Vegeta had been considering the king-sized bed and looked sharply over at her. "About what?"

"The incident during supper."

"I wasn't yelling at _him_."

"That makes it even worse. He doesn't understand what's going on with you. Perhaps if you explained it to him-" she broke off when he shook his head. "Well, things can't continue as they are. He's going to have to know what's going on sooner or later."

"Later," came the predictable answer.

Biting her tongue, she studied him for a moment. "Why are you staring at the bed like that?"

He passed her a puzzled look. "Has it always been so big?"

"I'm not surprised that you don't recognize it," she huffed. "You haven't slept in it for over two months."

"We haven't ...?"

"No."

"That's right," he said under his breath, nodding to himself. "Because of the training-"

"The goddamned training, yes!" she snapped at him and derived absolutely no pleasure in the way he cringed from the anger in her voice. She forced herself to calm down. "You pushed me away and you hurt me, Vegeta. I know why you did it, I even understand why but it was cruel thing to do, even for you."

He stared back at her helplessly. "I don't know what I can do to make up for it."

She cleared the distance between them and took his hands, "Just be my husband, that's all I want," she whispered and kissed him.

At first there was puzzled resistance and then his mouth opened up and accepted the gift she had to offer. Even then, during the innocuous act, Bulma could tell that something was wrong. For one thing he didn't seem to like the sensation of her tongue in his mouth and he certainly didn't repay the favor. His kisses were wet and sloppy and not at all pleasant and she pulled back in disgust, trying not to be obvious about it.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

"Nothing, it's ...just been awhile. That's all," she lied convincingly, considering him. Something as simple as that would have usually given him a straining erection but he didn't appear to be affected. "Let's go to bed."

It didn't get any better there. The pair rolled around on the wide surface of the bed, awkwardly pulling at each other's clothes and exchanging more of those unpleasant kisses. Bulma compared the experience to being groped by an immature high school student; no experience, no control, and certainly no direction. She enjoyed being caressed at the ultra-sensitive nexus of her inner thighs but for some reason Vegeta seemed to be fixated on her shoulder blades. When she reached for him, she discovered that he was still flaccid.

He grabbed her hand and suddenly pulled it away. His face became serious. "Don't-"

"It's okay," she tried using her most seductive purr as she pushed him down on the bed. "Just relax and enjoy this-" she kissed the lower part of his taut stomach and then ran her tongue along his skin, following the downward course of the zipper of his pants.

Blinking up at the ceiling, Vegeta tried to concentrate on what was happening below his waist. It was familiar and so achingly pleasant but Kakarrot was back in his head exclaiming his shock and discomfort and his usual brand of nerve-wracking naivety. Even when Bulma went down on him he knew it wasn't going to work. He raised himself on his elbows in the final hope that maybe watching would bring him around, but he wasn't prepared for the sight of Chi-Chi bending over him with his dick in her mouth.

"SHIT!" he screamed, jumping back until he slammed against the headboard.

Bulma- just Bulma- was looking at him shocked beyond words. "What the _hell-?_"

"I thought- For a second there ...you were-were-" he jumped off of the bed, zipping himself back up. He was almost running for the door. "I can't stay here. It's all screwed up- I can't-" his muttering faded as he marched down the corridor and out of her sight.

For the next few hours, Bulma lied in bed and tried to read a book while her ears strained for any hint of sound outside of the bedroom. Finally, her nerves could take no more. Leaving the room, she crossed the corridor and peered over the railing down into the living room. The television was on, the only light source casting moving shadows in the otherwise dark area, with the volume muted and broadcasting some late night movie. She could make out a lone figure lying on the sofa and immediately recognized this routine. A light sleeper at the best of times, Vegeta had become a chronic insomniac ever since his ordeals at Installation 15. He spent many nights this same way; watching the TV until dawn broke and he could go on his morning jog as a prelude to his usual training schedule. The habit had lessened over the years, reappearing after a nightmare or one of their infamous marital feuds, and it didn't offer her any reassurance to see him isolating himself like this again.

After a brief internal debate on whether to intrude, Bulma descended the staircase, not bothering to be quiet about it. She knew from experience that he wouldn't be sleeping anyway. Sniffing the air, she caught the whiff of telltale smoke and had to submerge a flare of anger and betrayal. It took some doing to contain that emotion but right now was not the time for a confrontation. Not even when she walked towards the sofa and saw the glowing end of the cigarette perched securely in his mouth.

He glanced up at her once and then went back to staring at the television. "I don't want to hear it," he said, deliberately taking a drag and flicking the ash onto a plate that was on the floor. It was littered with extinguished butts. Scattered around it were several empty beer cans.

"Fine, then I won't say it," was all she said, resting her arms on the back of the sofa and staring down at him.

Vegeta tensed, waiting for the rest.

"But ...you DID promise me that you'd stop sneaking them the day I finally decided to quit."

"Fine," he grumbled and did something that she absolutely hated the most about the filthy habit; he snuffed the cigarette out directly in his palm. It always made her cringe even though she knew from experience that it didn't hurt him. "There. You satisfied now?"

"Yes, thank you, Vegeta. I appreciate that."

"...hypocrite..." she heard him mutter under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"I said you're a hypocrite. I know that you're sneaking smokes when you're alone, too. So don't play Miss fucking High-And-Mighty with me!" he snarled at her with sudden ferocity.

She recoiled as if she'd been struck across the face. Drawing in a breath for a fevered response, she abruptly let it out again when she looked at him; _really_ looked at him. Even in the dim light she could see the wrongness there and when she reached over to turn on the table lamp, she could see the truth in stark detail.

Vegeta had been crying.

He immediately looked away from her and made a quick fist and the light bulb popped, bathing the room back into its prior gloomy lighting.

"Vegeta-"

"Get out of here, Bulma," he said roughly.

She glanced at the staircase but didn't move. Her mind, her brilliant, genius mind; the envy of every scientist on the planet, had ground to a stunned and useless halt. If this were some fabulous device she would be able to fix it without pause but she was unable to formulate any possible way to repair his damaged soul. She had never felt so helpless in all of her life and all she could say in the end was a meek, "Alright," and leave her husband to face the darkness of the room, and his own thoughts, alone.

* * *

A slam of books on the coffee table was enough to snap Vegeta out of an uneasy doze and he squinted up at Trunks for a few seconds, letting the face register.

"You and mom have another fight?" the boy asked gruffly.

"...What? No," Vegeta said at last, sitting up and running a hand through his disheveled hair. At least he didn't think so. He felt sluggish and out of sorts and his mouth tasted like an ashtray.

"Riight," Trunks said, eyeing him with scorn. He shouldered his backpack and went into the kitchen without another word.

Looking around the living room, Vegeta was shocked to discover that it was morning, well past eight o'clock. The television was still on. He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep but he figured that it must have been several hours ago. Bulma was at work by now and Trunks-

"Bye sweetie," Mrs. Briefs was calling from the back door. "Have a good day at school."

Vegeta scrambled to his feet. "Wait!" He caught up with the boy just as he was walking down the steps. "I'll walk you to school."

"You'll- _what?"_ Trunks gawked at him. "Dad, I'm eight years old, not three! Besides, I'm running late as it is."

"No arguments," Vegeta said, apparently oblivious to his disheveled appearance. To Trunks, he looked like a man recovering from a serious all-night bender and he sure as hell didn't want his friends at school to see him looking like this. Unfortunately, the Saiyan was determined to shadow him and the boy realized that he had no choice but to go along with it. It was like a nightmare that had come to life.

They walked quickly along the sidewalk for several minutes in silence until Vegeta attempted; "It wasn't you I was yelling at last night. I want you to know that."

"Sure dad."

"I mean it. It wasn't directed at you."

The boy looked at him seriously. "So who _were_ you yelling at?"

"...Kakarrot," Vegeta admitted after a pause.

"He wasn't even in the room!"

"It's complicated, Trunks-"

"Dad, I'm not a little kid. If there's something going on then just tell me what it is!"

Vegeta hesitated again and that was all the answer Trunks figured he needed. He sped up his pace and deliberately tried to ignore his father who started lagging behind. Vegeta was trying to come up with an excuse that wouldn't irreparably damage his pride (what precious little of it still remaining, that was), but he was drawing an alarming blank. _Who knew that trying to reason with an eight-year-old could be so damned difficult?_ He was sorely out of practice but when he saw the school come into view, he gamely tried to give it one more try; "Listen Trunks, what happened last night-"

"Goten!" Trunks called. His best friend was waiting for him near the front steps and standing next to the little hybrid was his big brother Gohan. Vegeta grumbled his displeasure under his breath as the pair approached. The way this morning was going, he might as well have stayed on the couch.

"Hi Trunks," Gohan greeted cheerfully. "Good to see you too, Vegeta," he added in that same light-hearted tone but his eyes suddenly sharpened on the older Saiyan's tousled, weary appearance. A thought went through his head, so fast that he hardly noticed it: --_oh no, it's Pitch all over again--_

"Gohan," Vegeta said neutrally, not appearing to notice the scrutiny, or didn't care.

"Hiya, Mr. Vegeta!" the little hybrid piped up, happily adding a wave.

He tried not to roll his eyes. "...Goten." He had always treated the little boy with weary disdain but the brat just seemed immune to his indifference.

Trunks wheeled his friend back around in the direction of the school. "Let's get going or we're gonna be late," he said, giving him an abrupt shove that sent his pal stumbling forward a few steps.

"Trunks!" Vegeta barked. "We're not through talking yet."

Trunks passed him a flippant wave. "Yeah, we are-"

Vegeta grabbed him by the arm and whirled him around so that they were face-to-face. The first hint of anger had surfaced on his face but that was okay. Trunks was starting to get angry, too. "You will show me the proper respect, boy. I'm your father. I may not be too sure of much at the moment but I'm damned sure of _that_!"

"You're an awful father!" Trunks shouted back directly into his face. "I wish that Gokou was my dad instead of you!"

"Wha-" Vegeta was absolutely thunderstruck. "What did you say to me?"

Gohan couldn't believe it either. "Trunks!" he snapped.

"Leave me alone!" the boy cried. He turned and raced for school. "All of you- Just leave me alone!"

"Hey Trunks, wait up!" Goten called after him and gave chase.

Gohan and Vegeta stood alone on the sidewalk in stunned silence. All of the blood had drained out of the older Saiyan's face except for a bright spot of scarlet on either cheek. A vein had popped out on his forehead and was throbbing along with his racing heartbeat. The hands at his sides were clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists.

_He's going to explode,_ Gohan thought with acute dread. _I can feel his ki starting to build. He's going to actually blow up and take out the entire city block and there's not a darn thing I can do to stop him._

Vegeta passed him a glance as if catching the thought; it was full of helpless rage, personal embarrassment, and a great deal of simple incomprehension. Without saying a word, he abruptly turned around and headed back the direction he came, returning to the headquarters building. The sensation of building ki dissipated as quickly as it had started.

No temper tantrum, no swearing, no retaliation- Just surrender. Gohan had been wondering how Vegeta was coping with his share of the aborted Fusion and now had his answer:

He wasn't.

* * *

Barely fifteen minutes from the time he had stepped out of the back door, Vegeta was walking back through the kitchen on his way to the living room.

"I have plenty of leftovers, Vegeta," Mrs. Briefs called over to him. "I'll prepare a setting-"

"I'm not hungry, Bunny. I'm going to bed," he said absently and walked past her to head for the stairs.

Mrs. Briefs released a gasp and seized her apron in a worried grip. She wasn't sure what unnerved her more; that he wasn't hungry even after missing breakfast, or that he had actually called her by her first name. Up until now, she hadn't even been sure that he had known what it was. Utterly flustered, she looked around for someone who could confirm what she'd heard (she had the nasty habit of getting even simple things confused from time to time), but there was no one else around; Trunks was in school, Bulma and Mr. Briefs were tending to company affairs.

Completely flustered, she rushed back into the kitchen; her only true sanctuary in the entire building, and fretted back and forth wondering what she should do. Even her husband's black cat registered that something was wrong and made itself scarce.

Ten minutes later, she was knocking on the door of Bulma and Vegeta's bedroom with one hand while balancing a tray filled with food on the other. She got no answer but she doubted that her grumpy son-in-law was really asleep. "Vegeta sweetheart, can I come in?"

She thought she heard him speak (or it could have been wishful thinking) but she opened the door and walked tentatively inside. The curtains in front of the balcony were drawn closed, turning the room into a gloomy navy blue, but it was light enough for her to see by. Vegeta was lying on the large bed and staring up at the ceiling. "Put the tray on the dresser and get out. I'm not in the mood for company."

Mrs. Briefs put the try of food where he told her but after a moment's hesitation walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at him earnestly.

"You're not much of one for instruction, are you?" he grumbled.

"I'm just worried about you, sweetie."

"I'm fine-"

"No, you're not. Even I can see that."

He made no comment and after a moment she asked, "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Getting the hell out of here would be a start."

She lightly swatted one socked foot. "Don't be like that. I just want to help you."

"I don't need your help." Under his breath she heard him mutter, "I don't need anyone's help."

"We both know that's not true, honey," she said softly.

Vegeta said nothing and only went back to staring at the ceiling.

"Do you want me to go fetch Bulma?"

He cast her a baleful glare. "Do I look like a child to you? No."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No!"

She pressed on. "I can be a very good listener-"

He gripped his head with both hands. "Woman, would you just get the hell out of here before I lose my mind and finally kill you?!"

"You make that threat over and over but you've never harmed a hair on my head, sweetie," she tittered. "Not in all the years I've known you. Now why is that?"

"Woman, I'm not in the mood to exchange mindless babble with you-"

"It's because you know that I could never hurt you. You trust me."

"Yes, fine. Now get lost-"

She giggled again. "Always the tough guy! I know you're going through a rough patch right now, but things will work themselves out. They always do."

Vegeta solemnly regarded his mother-in-law in the gloom and muttered, "This time I doubt it."

"I don't know a quarter of the messes that you've gotten yourself into over the years, sweetheart, but the fact that you're still here means that someone is looking out for you. Right now that person is me!" She looked at him, her eyes were actually open and she was smiling. "I'll help you through this any way I can."

Such devotion in her wide blue eyes; so full of trust, and love, and adoration. They were Bulma's eyes and once upon a time Trunks used to look at him with eyes like that, too. To Vegeta's mind it only seemed to be yesterday but it was apparent that the spark in his son's eyes had died out long ago. He found this recent betrayal to be unendurable.

"_- an awful father! I wish Gokou was my dad instead of you!" That's what he said and I can't change it. No matter how hard I try. 'An awful father.' Kakarrot scores another victory at my expense-_

It was all so unfair and it was the final damned straw.

He rolled away from her and deliberately showed her his back. "For the last time: Get out of here," he told her, his words were hoarse but understandable.

"What? But Vegeta-"

"-NOW."

Reluctantly, she backed up towards the door. She had come to try and make things all better and, somehow, had only managed to make things worse. She didn't want to leave her son-in-law at the mercy of that dark emotion on his own. She stopped her retreat and squeezed her hands into fists.

"No," she whispered to herself. "I'm not going anywhere."

She got a blanket from the closet and gingerly pulled it over him. After that she returned to his side of the bed and began gently rubbing his back, saying over-and-over in a soothing voice; "It'll be okay, Vegeta. Really, it will. Everything will be all right. Just give it some time."

Vegeta said nothing. He didn't appear to even react to her presence until he rolled over and suddenly hugged her with alarming urgency, burying his face into her dress. She held onto him as tightly as she dared, trying not to weep even when she felt him shuddering against her.

"It'll all be okay, honey," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "Just you wait and see."

* * *

Gohan made it a point to intercept Trunks and Goten when they left school at the end of last period. He cut his last two classes to be able to do it. The way that his thoughts had been all day, he might as well have skipped school entirely. The defeated look on Vegeta's face had haunted him from one classroom to the next and not even Videl's short skirt had been enough to get his mind off of what had happened that morning.

He was here to invite Trunks over his home, figuring that the boy was probably dreading facing Vegeta, and he was right. The lavender-haired youth accepted the offer scarcely before the words were out of the teenager's mouth. That was fine, precisely what Gohan was counting on. And when they arrived at the little cottage at the base of Mount Pazou, he was also counting on seeing Bulma's yellow hoverjet parked in the backyard. It was.

Trunks couldn't believe it. He looked to the teen with shock. "You ratted me out? Are you serious? I thought you were my friend!"

When the boy saw his mother step around the side of the house, he tried to turn tail and run. Gohan grabbed firm hold of his backpack, preventing the act. "Vegeta's my friend too, Trunks. What you said this morning was just plain wrong and I won't put up with it. So yeah, I ratted you out."

"How could you?" Bulma asked in a faint voice as she walked slowly over to him. "You actually said that you wanted Gokou as your father? Trunks- How-how _could_ you do that?!"

Trunks' cheeks turned bright crimson and he quickly dropped his eyes to the ground, unable to match the disappointed look his mother was giving him. Gohan released his hold of the boy only to have it taken back up by his mother, and she led her cringing son down to the lake so they could talk in private.

The drama wasn't yet over for Gohan. There was no telling how long Bulma and Trunks' conversation might last; it could be minutes or hours so he had to work fast. He rushed into the house to get changed. Chi Chi was at the kitchen looking out the back window and remarking, "-like father, like son. I swear, if Bulma doesn't rein that boy in soon he's going to be robbing banks before he turns twelve! Isn't that right, Gokou?"

The fighter was sitting at the table working his way through a batch of freshly baked blueberry muffins, and he managed a distracted grunt of agreement as he chowed down. Goten ran to the table and tried to snatch a muffin out of his hand and they began playfully wrestling over the treat. Chi Chi tried to maintain order but she was laughing right along with them.

Gohan hesitated in the corridor as he watched his father interact with the rest of his family. Third Class, Vegeta always called him, and perhaps that low status had something to do with his father's temperament: Don't dwell on the past, don't think about the future, live for the day. Gokou was shaking off the side-affects of the Fusion simply by being able to forget about it. For the last few days the small house had been filled with laughter, just like old times.

Vegeta's entire make-up was based on brooding over the events of his past and constantly strategizing about what the future might hold. Gohan knew from experience that the Saiyan prince was single-minded and regimented in his passions; the result of enduring the life of a career soldier. He could not let things go as easily as Gokou could. He needed help and it would take a Saiyan to get him to see reason.

Barring that, he figured a hybrid would do in a pinch. Gohan went to his room to get changed. When he was done, he slipped unnoticed out of his bedroom window and sped a swift course west.

There was a picnic table near the shoreline of the lake and Bulma sat down and stared at the view for a long while Trunks hovered near her, still weighing the consequences if he made a last ditch attempt at escape. Considering her words very carefully, Bulma finally asked in a soft voice, "Trunks... how much do you know about your father's past?"

He stared at her curiously for a moment, not sure of what to make of this subtle approach. His parents were screamers; that was what he was used to. "He won't talk about it-"

"You're friends with Piccolo and you've sparred with Gohan. Asking questions about him is only natural. What did they tell you?"

The boy chewed his lower lip nervously for a moment. "They don't like going into specifics; either of them. But from what little they told me, dad caused a lot of trouble when he first came to Earth."

"'Trouble'," Bulma remarked dryly. "Yes, I guess you could call it that."

"There was a battle between dad and Gokou that for some reason still seems unresolved," he added, staring at his mother uneasily. "What really happened?"

"All in good time. What else do you know?"

"Then there was the trip to Namek that you took part in to collect the Dragonballs," he said and waited for her acknowledging nod before continuing. "Dad teamed up with you guys when this alien named Frieza showed up. When dad died in the battle, he got wished back with the others, and he's stayed on Earth ever since. That's it," he gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Bulma was extremely grateful for the pair's restraint in their handling of this delicate topic. It was obvious that they didn't feel it was in Trunks' best interests to go into all of the gritty and distressing details about the mercurial Saiyan's past behavior. As far as Piccolo and Gohan were concerned; it was all water under the bridge because they were men who didn't hold a grudge and believed in second chances. "Anything else?"

Trunks released a frustrated exhale of breath. He wanted his mother to start releasing some details rather than do all of this dancing around the topic. It was the reluctance that he saw in her face that bothered him and forced him to think about his impatience. Bulma was a mother who always spoke her mind and the degree of dread that he now saw in her eyes began to suggest that she didn't have much good to say. He seriously thought over her question.

"Well, I mean we all know that he's a prince of a dead world and the Saiyans are extinct, except for those of us on earth. I know that Yamcha doesn't care much for him and neither does Tien. Krillin accepts him but I think it's more out of fear than anything else. The only one who dad seems to have any kind of nodding respect for is Piccolo, which is really surprising with him being a Namek and all."

"Piccolo and your father have a lot in common," Bulma chose to say as her answer.

"Okay. So what's the real story?" Trunks said eagerly sitting beside her on the picnic table. He had completely forgotten about the incident of this morning, entirely wrapped up in the moment. "What really went on the first time dad showed up?"

"In a minute," she said, there was an odd note to her voice that the youth had never heard before. "When your father was very young, he was being groomed for the throne. He was destined to rule an empire. It was never intended that he ever become a soldier. I want you to understand that Trunks, it's very important."

"Okay mom."

"When he was only five years old, his father gave him to Frieza who employed the Saiyans for their ability to conquer worlds. It was meant as a piece offering-"

Trunks cut in with, "His own father just handed him over? Are you serious?"

"I'm very serious," she said sadly. "In a later battle to retrieve him, the king and his army were slaughtered. Frieza destroyed Vegetasei as a warning to other races who might oppose him. Vegeta was left an orphan without a home. Frieza accepted him into his ranks but at a terrible price. It was-" her voice broke and she composed herself with visible effort. "It was horrible Trunks. He suffers from nightmares to this very day from what that-that _miserable bastard_ did to him." Bulma's face flushed with anger while the boy recoiled in shock. He had never heard his mother ever speak of anyone with such malice before.

"What did he do?" he asked in a small voice.

For an instant Bulma opened her mouth to respond and closed it again, permitting herself one shake of the head. There were some things that no child should ever have to hear, but in the back of her mind echoed the terrible dark truth of Vegeta's childhood and adolescence: torture, derision, sodomy. That knowledge was her burden to carry but she resolved that it would never be her son's.

"Your father was molded in Frieza's image," she said instead. "He became feared throughout the galaxy for his ruthlessness. He slaughtered entire civilizations as he expanded that creature's empire; conquering world after world with his power."

"How-how many people are we talking about, mom?" Trunks asked nervously. "A thousand? A hundred thousand?"

With troubled eyes, his mother could only look at her shocked son in silence.

"... Millions?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "No one knows, not even your father, not that he would have cared at the time. Frieza was utterly corrupt and evil and his presence was like a disease to Vegeta. He wasn't any different by the time he arrived on Earth in search of the Dragonballs. He was seeking immortality to overthrow Frieza and take over the empire. With him was another surviving Saiyan Elite named Nappa who actually killed several thousand people in East City when they first made landfall. After that, Nappa killed Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu, and Piccolo."

"What was dad doing during all of this?"

"Laughing," Bulma confessed sadly.

"...laughing..." the boy echoed strengthlessly.

"Your father battled Gokou when Nappa failed in the attempt. It was a terrible conflict. The power that was released left huge craters in the earth and created a hole in the ozone layer that didn't close for years. When he defeated Gokou-"

Trunks eyes bulged in shock. "He- _He did what?!"_

She nodded. "It's true. Vegeta recreated a moon and transformed into a giant Oozaru and crushed Gokou almost to death. Yajirobi managed to sever his tail and Gohan and Krillin continued the battle after he had reverted back to human form. Your father had taken direct a hit from both a Kamehameha blast _and_ a Spirit bomb and he just kept coming back for more. He seemed unstoppable."

"Holy crap!" the boy said weakly, running a hand through his mussed lavender hair. He had only heard the secondhand tales of the Cell Games and the battles with Majin Buu that had been off world. As strong as he knew his father was, it had always been Gokou who seemed to come off as the powerhouse. Vegeta was viewed as the strategist. Gokou's Kamehameha was identical in scope and destructive power to his father's own Galactic Gun. It was capable of leveling an entire mountain chain in one fatal release. Gohan's own version had completely obliterated Cell. The Spirit Bomb was the epitome of the purest of energy; siphoned off of living things and created to be a direct antithesis to anything evil it encountered. It had been the blast that had finished Majin Buu once and for all.

His father, his own _father_, had survived both.

"I... if-if that's the case, then how-" he had to break off and swallow, "How was he... stopped?" Trunks could never have imagined that he'd ever have to ask this question. He knew his father was something of a badass, but not a criminal. Certainly never a murderer!

Deep in his heart, he hoped that his mother would tell him that his dad had surrendered- perhaps realized what he had done was wrong and just given up peacefully. Knowing his father as well as he did (or had thought he did) he should have known better. "Gohan was also affected by the false moon and transformed. His Oozaru form attacked and defeated your father. Krillin was about to make the final strike and kill him when Gokou intervened and told him to spare his life. Vegeta never forgave him for that," Bulma explained.

"Dad would have preferred to die on the battlefield," Trunks realized. It explained the tension between the two pureblooded Saiyans. _It explained so much!_

"At the time, rather than return to Frieza as a failure, yes Trunks. He would have. I'll admit, the rest of us thought Gokou was insane for making that decision. Myself included."

The boy looked up in surprise. "You too mom?"

Bulma looked guiltily at the water. "I was at Master Roshi's with the others, watching the battle being broadcast via satellite. It was on every channel and we watched Nappa confront Piccolo and the others while your father stood on the sidelines. Nappa was the worst of the two, he was absolutely horrible and he was responsible for Yamcha's death, who I was in love with at the time. I'll never forget the close-up of Vegeta that first time, Trunks. You wouldn't have recognized him. Not so much in appearance but in his behavior. He was watching my friends die one at a time and he was having the time of his life. I was utterly terrified of him. He was so out of control."

She drew in a shaky breath and Trunks reached out and gave her cold hand a reassuring squeeze. Returning the gesture, she gathered strength from that contact and forced herself to continue. "Several months later we met face-to-face on Namek and he was... different. It's kind of hard to describe. That insanity I saw on Earth was gone and he was much like he is now, though rougher around the edges. I don't know what happened to him but he was conspiring against Frieza by then and desperate for the Dragonballs to use against him. He fought one of Frieza's lieutenants right in front of me."

She blushed a little and Trunks was relieved to see her betray a small smile. "The alien's name was Zarbon. I thought he was handsome until he transformed into a disgusting reptilian creature. Vegeta seemed to enjoy fighting him and I found out during our honeymoon that he was actually showing off for my benefit. He took the Dragonball without harming one hair on my head and later told Gohan that he thought I was gorgeous." She betrayed a short laugh and, beside her, Trunks was relieved to sense that some of her tension had finally passed. The Saiyan she was describing still sounded like a stranger to him (His father laughing? Dishing out compliments?) but he was fascinated to hear more about it.

"Vegeta eventually teamed up with Krillin, Gohan, Piccolo, and Gokou in the battle against Frieza. That tyrant beat him nearly to death and shot him through the chest. Before he died, he wept tears that hadn't been shed for decades, further lessening the darkness in his heart."

"Dad... cried?" Now Trunks was convinced that they were talking about someone else.

Smiling knowingly, she quipped, "Surprised?"

"That's an understatement."

"You weren't the only one. When we were all wished back to earth, that's when I started feeling the first stirrings of affection towards him. He was still a violent, ruthless, egocentric, sarcastic, manipulative son of a bitch," she took a deep breath, "but he wasn't evil. Not anymore. I think Frieza beat it all out of him. He stayed on Earth a short time and then went back out into space. I didn't think he'd ever return until he crash-landed in the courtyard one afternoon. I let him stay at Capsule Corporation and train to defeat the android threat. Trust didn't come easily to him but he gradually learned to accept me. In fact, it was during one wonderful afternoon in the original gravity simulator that you were conceived," she told him, adding a conspiring wink.

"Aw geez," the boy pulled away from her. His face turned brilliantly crimson.

"What did you think? That it was immaculate conception?" Bulma teased.

"I don't want to talk about stuff like that with my mother!" he groused.

"Fair enough," she said and got back on track. "Those three years we spent before the Cell Games were full of ups and downs, but we got through them together. After the battles were finally over, you became very sick, Trunks."

"I did?" He couldn't remember ever being sick a day in his life.

She nodded. "You were just a baby but you contracted a disease called the V'Nhar. It's a Saiyan ailment and one I think is restricted just to members of the Saiyan Royal family, although Vegeta won't confirm it. I sincerely believe that you would have died if he hadn't healed you."

Trunks mouth hung open in surprise but Bulma wasn't through yet. "Shortly after that, your father fell ill. It wasn't the V'Nhar. It was something ...worse. You repaid the favor and saved his life at the end of that terrible ordeal-"

"I- _what_?!" he squawked.

"You were much too small to remember," she said, "but you saved him and he's never forgotten that. It doesn't matter how or why, that's not important. What matters is that Vegeta loves you very much," Bulma soothed, trying to ram that point home while her son's guards were currently down. She touched his face, so like his father's without that shadow of loss in the background of his youthful features. "He can't say it out loud but it's true. He's so proud of you, Trunks. To become a Super Saiyan at so young an age and so _powerful_-"

"Why can't he just tell me that himself?" the boy asked in dismay. "Why does he treat me the way that he does? I don't get it!"

Sighing, Bulma told him, "Trunks, consider what I've told you. Try to imagine what your father went through during his terrible upbringing with Frieza. For his entire life he battled and trained with men. He lived among soldiers, learning only aggression, and is now completely conditioned to respond to that male competitive drive." She stared at her son levelly. "He treats you like an equal. It's all that he knows how to do. You should be proud of that."

"But Gokou, he-"

"Don't say it," she said, pointing a rigid finger into his face. "There's more to fatherhood than just having a sense of humor and a peaceful nature. Gokou lives to eat and spar; in that order. When those needs are filled, he gives his attention to his family when the mood suits him. Rather than hold down any kind of a job, he spends his free time visiting friends, sightseeing, and generally goofing around while the rest of the family struggles just to make ends meet. Yes, he's a hero, but he's a lousy husband, and for seven years he chose to party in the afterlife rather than be a father to Gohan and Goten."

Trunks couldn't believe what his mother was saying and yet he knew it was true, every single word of it. He had seen it all for himself. Goten, who was practically scared of his own shadow, had warmed up to Vegeta over the years. And why not? For those first seven years, it had been Vegeta, above anyone else, who had been the chief adult male figure in young Goten's life. Despite being the son of his chief rival, he had nevertheless endured Goten's never-ending curiosity and questions in the hundreds of visits he had made to Capsule Corporation over the years. When Trunks thought of all of the trouble the pair had gotten into, some of it serious, he was now amazed that his father hadn't killed them both.

"The entire earth is Gokou's family, but you and I are the only two people that your father cares about. That's why he hardly ever budges from the headquarters building," Bulma pressed on while she watched her son grapple with this new insight. "I know he doesn't hug and kiss and do all those cute things other fathers do to their children, but he is always near us. _Always!_ In the meantime, Gokou is off to some obscure corner of the Earth looking for cheap kicks. Do really think Gokou's a better father for that behavior, Trunks? Just because he's your buddy? Or are you still too young to understand what I'm trying to tell you.?"

"No ... no, mom. I get what you're trying to say but dad, he-he ..." Who was the better father to his family? This morning, Trunks had thought he was sure of the answer but now the truth shamed him. Vegeta would never be considered demonstrative and his affections and all emotions other than his trademark irritation were usually locked away. There _were_ rare times when he betrayed a mischievous streak and sometimes his patented sarcasm could even be considered amusing. Vegeta's unique approach to fatherhood was best described as one of reluctant tolerance. He wasn't abusive towards him, just... distant. How else could a man who had never had a childhood be expected to act? How could Trunks have thought that he was so terrible?

When Bulma saw that her words were starting to sink in, she decided to drop the bombshell: "Trunks, your father is sick again. He needs you. He needs us both."

The boy stared up at her with alarm. "He's sick?"

Gently, Bulma told him about the aborted Potara fusion and its after-effects on the two adult Saiyans. With this new insight into the past rivals' past history, Trunks could now understand why his father was having such a difficult time dealing with it. "So that's why he's been acting so weird?" It was not quite a question.

"He wasn't on vacation, he was in the hospital. They couldn't help him. He took a Senzu bean, but it didn't work. He's trying to cope with this all on his own and he needs our support. Please don't push him away now-" Her words quavered and she sniffed back tears and had to clear her throat before continuing; "Not when he needs you the most. You're the only son he has."

"Oh-Okay mom," he said in a distracted tone, lost in thought. All at once, the boy began to grasp how things from his father's perspective must have appeared: A lifetime of mind-numbing violence, of guarding his back, of being alone. All of a sudden there was his mother offering something different; something pure for the first time in his entire existence. It was the appeal of their family unit that kept him at Capsule Corporation, Trunks realized. Not money, not training devices. He didn't socialize with anyone outside of Capsule Corp. In fact, the only companionship he seemed to require was from Bulma-

-And from him.

_You're an awful father!_ He had yelled at him in front of Goten and Gohan; _I wish that Gokou was my dad instead of you!_ When Trunks tried to swallow, all he tasted was the sour bile of shame.

"Dad," Trunks murmured softly. His mortification and grief doubled until his small frame seemed to bow from the weight of his guilt. He couldn't have come up with a worse insult if he'd tried. "I have to set things right-"

"Trunks-"

"I have to try!" he shouted and suddenly took the air.

Bulma could only pray that he wasn't too late.

* * *

_To be concluded…_


	4. BRAND NEW PERSPECTIVE

Mirror, Mirror

© 2006 by Darke Angelus

Part Four – Brand New Perspective

* * *

By late afternoon of that terrible day, Vegeta had decided to give up. On himself. On his family. On his very sanity. He was sitting in one of the lounge chairs on the lower patio deck still wearing the clothes that he had slept in and not giving a damn. In front of him was a sandwich that was untouched and a six-pack of beer that wasn't. He was coming to the conclusion that perhaps drinking and feeling sorry for himself should become his new hobby. Lord knows he was good at it. 

_All Hail the Saiyan Prince of Beer guts!_ he thought somberly and cracked the tab on his fourth with grim determination. _What else was there for him anymore? What was there really?_ He had purposely pushed Bulma away before the tournament with the warped logic that she would easily move on with her life after he had lost his own. If she didn't want him now it was his own damned fault, not hers. Kakarrot's infectious stupidity had claimed his only son, turning the boy against him. He couldn't even challenge the bastard to combat over the issue because he knew that the other pureblooded Saiyan would easily kick his ass. He always could. The only person still on his side seemed to be Bulma's mother.

That was enough to get him to start crying. Again. Not for the first time since this unending nightmare started to unfold, Vegeta cursed being wished back. He might have ended up in Hell and back among a sea of familiar faces, but at least he would have been whole. Now ...he didn't know _what_ he was.

Even worse, he was beginning to discover that he no longer really cared.

He felt a prickle on the edge of his consciousness and looked around in time to see Gohan land in the courtyard. He slouched further down in his seat and tried to appear invisible. It didn't work (O_f course it wouldn't_, he thought to himself, _When it involves me it's jinxed!_) and the teenager began marching towards him. "Vegeta-"

"He's not here. Try the next house."

"I've been thinking about this all day. What Trunks said was dead wrong. I'm with you on that one. He should never have said what he did. It wasn't fair. But I honestly believe that maybe you two should sit down and have a good long talk-" Vegeta still wasn't looking at him and his hand began pantomiming a duck's beak wagging up and down. "...Are you drunk?"

"Not yet. Go home, boy."

"I didn't come all the way over here to talk to you about Trunks."

"That a fact," Vegeta quipped, staring at him with bored half-lidded eyes.

Gohan voice remained level when he said; "I want to spar with you."

Vegeta released a bark of laughter that contained absolutely no humor. "Your perfect, wonderful, heroic father is back home now. Go fight with him."

"I'd like to, believe me, but he's out of my league now ever since he reached Super Saiyan Level Three. Since you never managed to get that far, I figure now we're pretty evenly matched."

Vegeta could have sworn that his heart actually skipped a beat. The can of beer paused at his lips and his dull gaze suddenly sharpened on the teenager. "...What the hell did you just say?"

"Well, I don't mean to rub your face in it or anything but it's the truth, Vegeta. Dad's just too powerful now. I know it was Babidi's magic that helped you get to Level Two, but I bet you could get close to it on your own if you tried-"

Vegeta slammed his hands down on the patio table and got to his feet, crossing his arms in his usual stressed pose. "Why are you trying to get me angry, brat? What's the reason?" He was studying Gohan very seriously.

The teenager matched his stare; completely calm, perfectly composed. "Since when have I needed a reason? It's how you always are, isn't it? Or have you changed as much as my father has?"

"Watch your tone with me, boy," Vegeta said in a low, dangerous tone.

"What're you going to do about it, _old man_?" Gohan shot back.

Dropping his arms in surprise, the muscles across Vegeta's chest clenched and unclenched in agitation. His hands curled into tight fists, the knuckles turning white as he increased his grip in his growing fury. He wasn't sure what was pissing him off more; the boy's sheer insolence or the fact that he wasn't backing down from his arrogant conduct. There had been the odd time before when Gohan's smart mouth had gotten him in trouble but this blatant challenge was unprecedented. "You need to be reminded of your place," Vegeta snarled. "If it's a spar you want we'll do it right here."

This time Gohan was the one who crossed his arms. "Why not inside of that simulator you're always bragging about? Or are you out of practice? I hear you haven't trained since we all got back from the Look Out."

Vegeta's dark features flushed to a deep crimson. "Let's go," he grated out from between clenched teeth.

The gravity simulator had long since been moved inside the headquarters building into a specialized reinforced section on the ground floor. It was soundproofed and equipped with anti-blast shielding that was guaranteed to offset any explosion and channel it outside. Vegeta had only managed to breech the wall once and, true to its design, the built-in shields had projected the displaced energy harmlessly into the sky.

Gohan waited impatiently beside the door for Vegeta to slip into a more appropriate outfit for sparring. He could feel his resolve faltering with each passing second but knew backing out of the challenge was no longer an option. He had intentionally provoked this conflict and now had to see it through to its end and make his payment. Probably in blood. Maintaining the gruff façade, he quipped; "I thought you'd run away," when Vegeta came down the stairs wearing his sleeveless dark blue training suit.

Fixing the teenager with a withering glare as he pulled on his gloves, Vegeta shot back with: "You're going to be wishing I had by the time I'm through with you."

Gohan didn't drop his gaze but he managed one swallow. His throat had closed up to the size of a pinhole. "I've never sparred in the simulator before. What shall we set it at?"

"How about five hundred times earth's gravity?" Vegeta asked seriously as he entered the security code and waited for the reinforced doors to open.

"Fine," the teenager answered without hesitation.

Vegeta knew full well that the teen had never reached that level of training and would be smashed to the floor the instant the gravity emitters engaged. Fighting in here would be a huge advantage in his favor and, not for the first time, Vegeta's resolve lapsed. He stopped at the room's entrance, suddenly lost in thought. _Something wasn't right here..._

Gohan sensed the hesitation and boldly walked into the huge chamber as if he owned it. "I'll let you pick the setting," he said, adding a distracted wave.

"Don't do me any favors," Vegeta shot back. He walked over to the control panel and eyed the read-out. The highest level he had ever reached was five hundred and four and he was reasonably certain that all the teenager was accustomed to was earth's own paltry gravitational field. His old self, the Vegeta before all of that Majin Buu bullshit, would have entered 'five-hundred' into the console without hesitation. That old Vegeta would have relished watching Gohan's painful struggles on the steel floor with detached, gloating satisfaction. Right now, however, he found that he just wanted it to be a fair fight. "I'm going to set it for ...one hundred."

Gohan flashed him a grin. "That should be okay. I'll try to keep up with you on that one," he said with clear sarcasm.

The older Saiyan hesitated and stared solemnly at him. "This isn't like you."

"How would you know? The only time you talked to me these last seven years was to put me down for going to school. I'm a disappointment to the Saiyan race, right? Here's your chance to prove it, once and for all."

Casting him one more resentful glare, Vegeta hit the 'engage' button and flexed his muscles as the simulator began the steady progression of increasing the punishing gravity. Gohan could feel the pull almost immediately and willed his body not to betray him by trembling from the increasing stress. He had to maintain the appearance of the antagonist and knew that he was a crappy actor. Across from him, seemingly oblivious to the pressure, Vegeta did a few one-armed push-ups and executed a series of nimble back flips before getting into his unmistakable half-front facing posture, legs spread for balance. Gohan stood in a rooted stance and faced him squarely without any fear.

"_The simulator has now reached one hundred times earth gravity,"_ the mellow voice of the computer told them. _"Maximum safety parameters have been established." _

The pair faced off but neither made the transformation into Super Saiyan, wordlessly agreeing that the first to fall back on the change would be unanimously declared the loser and the match would be made forfeit. This was a face-off that pitted youth against experience; enthusiasm against composure; impatience against wisdom. It was a battle that would be waged solely using wits and skill.

For the first few minutes, the two charged and feinted, each evaluating the other's strategy and technique. They had sparred before, sometimes in life-or-death battles, but now there was something different that made Vegeta particularly wary. He tried to tell himself that the motivation behind this challenge was only teenage hormones and chronic immaturity. In the back of his mind, however, he knew that the teenager wasn't one to act on his emotions like Saiyans traditionally did. He was the thoughtful, intuitive one. There had to be a reason for him to be acting so irrational but Vegeta was damned if he could figure out what it was. Because of this, he resolved that he was not going to hurt Gohan.

Too much.

Forcing pictures of past enemies and battles through his mind, Gohan fed on the anger that the memories radiated; Frieza, Cell, even Vegeta himself when he had first appeared on earth. He released a shout of anger and charged. His kicks and blows put Vegeta on an unexpected defensive and the older Saiyan actually gave ground. With a snarl of anger, Vegeta dropped into a low stance and released a straight-up sidekick that collided with the youth's jaw and knocked him back a few feet. When Gohan wiped his mouth there was a streak of blood smeared across the back of his hand.

"First blood," Vegeta remarked smugly. "Might as well give up now, b-"

Gohan suddenly phased out and materialized behind the older Saiyan faster than the eye could track. Vegeta felt a knee connect with his lower back and knew that he'd be pissing blood by evening. If there was anything that he hated more than getting nailed in the nuts, it was a cheap shot to the kidneys. With a growl, he brought his elbow straight back and heard a satisfying exhale of breath as his strike connected with the boy's ribcage. After that he immediately dropped to the floor and knocked Gohan off-balance with a low sideswipe with his right leg. Not to be outdone, the youth fell back on his muscular arms and kicked out with both feet connecting squarely with Vegeta's stomach, driving him backwards.

The Saiyan turned his misplaced momentum into a back flip and rebounded from the wall of the simulator. He executed a series of lightening-fast feints, phasing in and out of sight, before appearing directly in front of Gohan and knocking him backwards. Vegeta avoided a one-knuckle fist punch aimed for his Adam's apple and leapt into the air. Executing a swift flip, he released a side-snap kick that clubbed the teen on the side of the head. It knocked Gohan off of his feet and sent him skidding across the smooth metal floor.

Stumbling backwards and trying not to succumb to the pull of gravity, Gohan squinted through a vision marred by bright colors, trying to shake off the blow. Vegeta regarded him with guarded curiosity, again registering that something was off about the nature of this conflict. "You're holding back," he observed. "Feeling me out, testing my defenses. Why?"

"You're different."

"_I'm_ different?" He couldn't believe it. "I'm not the one who came here half-cocked and spoiling for a fight, brat."

"Vegeta, some of the moves that you're using are my dad's style. Haven't you noticed?"

He recoiled as if physically struck. Shaking his head, he forced himself to play back their brief skirmish. The teenager was right. There only two different moves he could see, variations really of his two favorite kicks, but it was enough. "No ..."

"I watched my dad's kata this morning and it's the same with him, he's adopted some of your stances into his routine. I'm not the one holding back here, Vegeta. You are."

"Shut up, boy," he snarled. Kakarrot had warped his mind, body, and emotions and now that taint had even reached his fighting style; a Royal kata that had been handed down through one thousand years of Elite selective breeding. It was final damned straw and he felt that familiar old rage and hate rise from the ashes at last. He was damned if he was going to allow the moves of some Third-class piece of shit pollute his proud lineage.

"It's true, you're fighting like my dad," Gohan persisted. "A part of you realizes that, I think. You're fighting me in here as much as you're fighting him-"

"Shut up! Just- _SHUT UP!"_ he shouted back, lashing out with fists and feet. There was a desperate intensity behind his assault and Gohan was genuinely shocked by the strength, skill, and speed of the Saiyan's myriad attacks. The transitions between the man's moves were effortless and fluid. All motion was the height of perfection; aerial maneuvers, flexibility, posture, and stance. Gohan's panicked eye took note of everything as he desperately avoided key blows and returned others point for point.

Saiyan and hybrid flew into one another; a blur of strikes, kicks, and blocks. Gohan quickly recovered his wits and he moved like a possessed soul with several of his punches and kicks actually getting through Vegeta's defenses. One palm heel glanced off of his cheekbone while a knee barely missed connecting with his groin. It was at this point that Vegeta resolved to stop humoring him and show the brat just what the Prince of Saiyans could _really_ do in a fight.

Jumping back to avoid a hammer-fist strike that would have easily shattered a rib, Vegeta let the battle lust drop over his mind and transform everything around him into a crimson veil. All at once, Gohan found himself on the receiving end of the Saiyan's unique repertoire of martial arts; gainer flash, whip back, spear-fist thrust, reverse kick, ridge-hand strike, dagger lunge- He could find no defense against that alien technique and in the span of twenty swift heartbeats, the teenager found himself back on the simulator floor, barely conscious.

The rage deserted Vegeta as swiftly as it had come, leaving him hollow and cold. He felt absolutely no sense of victory at the sight lying at his feet. He had lost his temper. It was something that hadn't happened since Trunks had been eight and caught him off guard with a Super Saiyan transformation. _No trip to the park is going to smooth this one over_, he thought morosely.

He knelt down beside the teen and reached out to touch him, drawing his hand back and curling it into a fist instead. "Gohan, I-"

The teenager stirred. "... would have ...killed me if you'd ...wanted to..." he rasped out from between swollen lips.

"No-YES! But I wasn't- I-I'm not..." He almost said it out loud: _I'm not the man I used to be._

As if catching that thought, Gohan wearily raised his head and actually smiled at him. "...How much more proof do you need that you're ...a better person now, Vegeta?"

All of the blood drained out of his face as he struggled to respond. With a growl, he turned sharply and walked away. Gohan thought for sure that he was heading for the exit but he walked over to the console instead. After a few seconds, the computer informed them: "_The simulator has now returned to standard earth gravity. All safety parameters are no longer in effect." _

Gohan immediately felt the strain leave his battered frame and he released a sigh of relief, sitting up. "That's better. Thanks, Vegeta," he said sincerely, rubbing his aching shoulder.

"You tricked me," Vegeta said in a low voice, not turning around. He had not escaped unscathed from their frenzied skirmish; there were a number of bruises that marked his arms and face but the injuries were mild in comparison to what he had inflicted on the teenager. He squeezed his eyes shut in shame.

Pulling off his sweaty T-shirt, Gohan wiped his face. "No, you knew what I was up to right from the start," he said, his words muffled by the fabric. "I could see you figuring it out while we fought."

This time the older Saiyan looked around at him. "Idiot. What purpose did it serve? Look at the state of you!"

"It could have been worse and you know it," the teenager said. When he received no denial he plunged on, "The only language that you and my dad understand is combat. Trying to talk to you when I first came here would have been useless. I know that you wouldn't have listened to me."

"I'm listening now."

Gohan's bruised face became serious. "Good, because I have a lot to say..."

* * *

Trunks maintained his direct course west while struggling with everything that his mother had told him earlier. His young mind was frantically trying to process all of the information before he began the fateful chore of facing his father and atone for his earlier misconduct. Bulma had been surprisingly calm when she had dealt with him, but he knew better than to expect that treatment from his father. If past experience was any judge, the man was going to be brilliantly pissed. 

"His own father just handed him over to Frieza like he was some- some unwanted pet. How could he do that?" the boy wondered bitterly, unable to comprehend the logic behind the action. At the age of five, his dad would have been old enough to grasp what was happening to him. He would have felt betrayed, abandoned, unwanted... left at the mercy of the butcher responsible for the extinction of his race.

_He suffers from nightmares to this very day from what that-that miserable bastard did to him,_ his mother had confessed with unusual spite. She was a woman who never held onto a grudge and so the fierce hatred behind her words came as a brutal shock. His father was a full-blooded Saiyan; beatings wouldn't have fazed him so it had to have been something else. Something... worse.

"No," Trunks choked, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He shook his head to try and drive the suspicions away. He had barely scratched the surface of what he suspected and even that mere glimpse was enough to cause him to shudder. It was too awful to consider. Too- too _evil_.

As evil as his father had once been.

Trunks realized he was actually terrified to face his father now that he knew the truth of his terrible past. An interstellar butcher responsible for the deaths of an incalculable number of alien lives. A celestial bad-ass who had no equal until the moment he set foot on earth and set forces into motion that were still in action to this very day. He had the entire universe to roam but here he stayed: playing house with a wife and son. Why?

His mother's voice was back:_ What matters is that Vegeta loves you very much. He can't say it out loud but it's true. He's so proud of you, Trunks. To become a Super Saiyan at so young an age and so powerful-_

He and his father had been drifting apart over the last few years; a distancing so unperceivable that the boy barely noticed, too wrapped up in his own life with friends and school to realize that perhaps his absence had been noticed. And missed. Vegeta wasn't the only one at fault here, not by a long shot. It dawned on Trunks that he had been acting like a self-centered little rich kid who believed that the world revolved around him. His cheeks flamed with shame at how often Gokou's name entered into conversations at home, oblivious to his mother's veiled glances at his father, or of the older Saiyan's tendency to lapse into silence when the name was mentioned.

He had to make things right, he knew that, but he was drawing a blank on how to do it.

His senses picked up a familiar ki as he neared the Capital and was astonished to see Gohan streaking by in the opposite direction. The teenager slowed his pace long enough to offer the boy a wave and Trunks' keen eye caught sight of a split lip and bruises on the older hybrid's face. He had a pretty good idea where the teenager had come from, and that knowledge filled Trunks with increasing dread.

When he landed in the courtyard, he found his father standing in the shade under one of the trees apparently waiting for him. He was wearing one of his blue training suits and it looked like it had endured some light combat. There were also bruises on his face. That meant that Trunks' earlier suspicions were confirmed; Gohan and his father had gotten into it. He couldn't think of a reason why but when Vegeta snapped his outraged glare solely on the boy, he couldn't think of much else. His fear had returned with a vengeance.

"D-Dad listen, I'm really sor-"

"Shut up. I've been thinking hard about what you said earlier. About you wanting Kakarrot for a father-"

"I-I didn't mean it-"

"Yes, you did. Listen up boy, and listen good. Maybe Gohan rattled my brain a bit or maybe I'm finally losing my mind for good. Whatever the case, it's my turn to speak and I don't want to hear a peep out of you until I'm finished. This is a once-in-a-lifetime-never-to-be-repeated offer and I don't want to lose my train of thought. Got it?

"I-" Trunks had a pretty good idea of what his father was going to say and decided not to interrupt him. " ...Sure, sure dad," he said in a meek tone, easing down into the nearby bench. He was squaring his shoulders and waiting for the barrage to come.

Taking a few seconds to consider his words, the older Saiyan surprised the boy by speaking in a calm, measured voice that was completely uncommon to his usual impatient nature. If anything, hearing it made Trunks even more anxious and so he listened closely, not interrupting. "If it hadn't been for a simple blow to the head caused by a senile old human, Kakarrot would never have become who and what he is today. He would have attacked the Earth, probably destroyed it because that's what Saiyans do-" Vegeta shook his head and corrected himself, "No, that's what Saiyans _did_. What I'm trying to say is that because of that one thing, Kakarrot's destiny was changed. He was raised among humans and believed himself to be one. As a result he adopted ideals that no Saiyan would have ever been able to accept under normal circumstances; respect, friendship... and that cursed 'L' word that your mother uses every damn chance she gets.

"I didn't have the comfort of an upbringing like that. I had a throne, an empire, and a proud race torn away from me until all that I had left was my own name. I've had to fight for every single scrap I could get my hands on ever since I was your age. A life like that makes you hard. And cold. And pitifully grateful for any little speck of simple kindness you can scrounge. Your mother gave me that gift over ten years ago and I've never forgotten it.

"Our argument made me aware that you take your life for granted, just as Kakarrot does. That circus clown has two strong sons and a spitfire for a mate, and yet his greatest ambition is to do nothing more than bum around the planet. You have more wealth than you can imagine. You're one of the most powerful beings in the universe. You have your freedom. Yet none of that seems to be enough for you. You're not content with your station and that pisses me off to no end. Sometimes I just want to lock minds with you and show just you how bad things can get for a boy-" he swallowed and looked away. "But no matter how disrespectful you are, there's no justifying that punishment. You'll just have to take my word for it. If the worst thing in your life is thinking that I'm a lousy father then you're an idiot- Just like your revered idol."

Trunks was shaking his head. "Stop it, dad! I don't want to hear anymore-"

Vegeta suddenly shouted: "You will LISTEN! You piss and moan that I never talk to you! Well damn it, I'm talking now so shut up!"

The boy's mouth closed with an audible snap.

"I'm not trying to offer you excuses but you have to understand this, Trunks: I am a pureblooded Saiyan. I'm the last true prince of an extinct race of warriors that killed solely for pleasure. Bloodletting was a sport to us, nothing more-nothing less. To us, all other races were inferior. You can pin it on genetics or evolution all you want but the truth was that I _liked_ the way I was. I was the most feared killer in the universe and I reveled in that title. Was I insane? Your mother and her friends would like to think so. The brutal truth is that I was completely sane. I didn't actually lose my mind until I endured my first defeat at the hands of Kakarrot. _That's_ when I went fucking _crazy_. And that madness remained right up to the day I sacrificed myself to kill Majin Buu-" he stopped suddenly, realizing that he had been close to raving. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing himself to calm down. "It was the fusion that caused all of the problems," Vegeta told him in a softer voice. "The Potara Earrings were meant to create a permanent amalgam of Kakarrot and myself but we broke apart inside Majin Buu. I'm seeing things from Kakarrot's perspective but that isn't the worst of it. He's in my mind and soul, effecting my emotions, my fighting style, everything that's important to me. I lost something integral after that damned Fusion. I'm no longer the person I used to be and ... I honestly don't know what to do."

"Dad, I-I ..." Trunks was at a loss for words. His mother had told him earlier what happened but actually hearing his father confess the truth was not something he could have prepared himself for. It wasn't the victory he thought it would be. To see his father so vulnerable was more terrible than the first time he had seen him fall in battle.

He got to his feet and put a hand on his father's arm and was briefly encouraged when Vegeta made no move to shake him off and widen the distance. "What can I do for you?" he asked sincerely.

"Stop bringing up Kakarrot for a start. I know he's you're hero. I know for a fact that he's stronger and more powerful than me but I don't need to be reminded of it every goddamned day." There. He finally admitted the painful truth it out loud for the first time since he and Kakarrot had first met. He was surprised to find that it rolled off of his tongue easier than he'd thought it would. And damned if he didn't feel better for saying it. He felt ... _felt ..._

_Free. _

He savored that odd feeling, testing it, while Trunks stood beside him and started to cry. "I'm sorry dad! You're my father! Not him! I never should have said it. I'm sorry!" Tears were starting to spill from his blue eyes and run down his cheeks, and he wiped his running nose on the sleeve of his shirt, chest hitching miserably.

Watching his son struggle with his grief, Vegeta considered this odd unburdened sensation deep within him. It was as if someone had lanced an infected boil and released the poison trapped inside of it. The only difference was that this infection had been deep in his soul, festering for decades.

He suddenly recalled some of Gohan's words after their fight. The teenager had prepared quite a sermon and he had lectured with the skill of a Baptist minister. Vegeta had listened as best he could but he hadn't retained much beyond the salient points. He was a Saiyan, after all, and the boy had been dead-on when he had said that combat was the only language Saiyans really understood. Still, he remembered enough, and those words came back to him now.

" – _My father is back, but when he was gone you were as close to a father to me as any man I knew, next to Piccolo. I'll always respect you for it. Deep down you're a good person and now you've been given the chance to finally prove it. Make it work, Vegeta. I know you can do that."_

There had been more, an hour's worth of babble, but those five sentences summed it up perfectly. He had been given a second chance to make things right for his family and the time had come to shelve the self-pity and get back to living.

_Cool!_ Gokou was back to cavorting around in the background of his thoughts. _It's about time, Vegeta. Let's get down and par-tay!_

_Not you, dumbnuts,_ Vegeta thought back. _I'm taking back control of my mind once and for all._

_Oh yeah?_

_You'd better believe it._

Sure, right. And how you gonna do it- 

With his mental control back on track, Vegeta envisioned a huge stone slab dropping out of the sky and squishing the orange-clothed irritant like a bug under a rock. A crimson pond began to quickly spread around the pillar. He could even see Kakarrot's fingers and feet twitching spasmodically under the heavy weight and he absorbed the sight with private relish. It was only a mental representation, but one took the victories you could get. Finishing off the vision, a mountainous broom swept the grisly mess into a dark, rarely used corner of his mind and he sealed the door shut with deadbolts and chains.

_You got into my body and emotions, even my damned kata, but I'm taking my mind back. It's the only thing of mine I've got left. Understand?_ he yelled at the door.

There was no answer, which was precisely what he expected. He nodded in satisfaction and returned to the real world.

Trunks was still bawling and Vegeta rolled his eyes and lightly batted the side of the boy's head, ruffling his already mussed lavender hair. "You get that emotion from your mother. Quick to temper and speaking without thinking, you get that from me. You're our son, all right," he muttered. When Trunks looked up, he was astonished to see his father was smiling down at him.

"Dad ...?"

"Let's go inside and get something to eat," Vegeta offered and he watched his son release an excited shout, one small arm punching at the sky in a gesture of victory.

That painful tension in the center of his being loosed even more. Vegeta felt a little like celebrating himself.

* * *

Bulma had noticed over the evening meal that something about Vegeta was different but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. 

He had been unusually polite at the table, and receptive to Trunks' banter about friends and school (but nothing about Gokou, the boy had taken his father's words to heart and it would be a long time before he would ever bring that name up in front of him again). She was relieved to see that the two had apparently made their peace but she saw bruises on Vegeta's face that weren't there the night before. Trunks was unharmed, she noted gratefully, but she felt that familiar worry start to return to her weary muscles. She was wondering if her husband had gone to Mr. Satan's mansion to visit an old pink friend ...

When supper was over, Vegeta went back to cleaning the rest of his neglected fish tanks and Trunks stayed close by his side. Bulma wanted to talk to her husband about this miraculous turn-around to his behavior but she figured it was more important for the pair to interact and make up for lost time together. When she had received Gohan's call over what had happened that morning, her first instinct had been to simply chastise the youth. Telling the boy about his father's dark past had been her absolute last choice, but it was one she was glad she had made. Trunks was human but he was also half-Saiyan and responding enthusiastically to powerful figures was an instinctive thing in his alien make-up. She had now ensured that he would give his father the proper respect he deserved.

What worried her now was Vegeta's reaction to his son's knowledge of his past. While they were together, Trunks would no doubt be fishing for juicy tidbits about his father's past life as a soldier. He might become irritated by the boy's curiosity but she had a pretty good idea that if he was going to lose his temper over the issue it was going to be at her. She had betrayed his confidence in her by telling Trunks _everything_. There was no telling what his reaction might be and for that reason, she kept her distance until bedtime.

When she finally braved up the nerve to go into their bedroom, Bulma found it empty but noticed the double doors to the balcony were open. A gentle breeze was blowing at the curtains and they were billowing gently in the breeze. She peered outside and saw her husband sitting on the railing of the balcony, looking out at the lights of the Capital. She hovered in the doorway, watching him and committing every detail to memory. Recalling the details of his past, Bulma's head now felt swollen with all of the contradictions this enigma had exhibited over all the years she had known him; villain and hero, murderer and lover, traitor and friend, loner and father.

He was freshly showered and clad in a pair of simple sleep pants, his damp hair was undisturbed by the slight breeze that was hitting this side of the headquarters building. He usually had his arms crossed in that constant gesture of tension but this time his fingers were loosely laced together and lying on his stomach. When he finally noticed her, he inclined his jaw and gestured to the city; an unspoken invitation to join him.

"It's a beautiful night," she said, standing beside him.

He nodded mutely. "Hell of a couple of weeks, though."

"Yeah, it was that," she admitted and in the back of her mind, he caught; _Hell of a couple of months, truth to tell..._

"I know you spoke to Trunks."

She cast him a startled glance. "What makes you think that I said anything to him?"

"Obnoxious brat in the morning, regretful child by evening. It didn't take a genius to figure out why."

"Vegeta-"

He passed her an absent wave. "I'm not angry." He lapsed back into his strange silence and then added in a softer voice, "It takes a lot more than that to get me angry now."

"Is that really a bad thing?" she dared to ask.

Turning his head, he looked into her face – her beautiful, trusting face, and admitted, "No, I don't think it is."

Troubled, she examined him closely in the light of the half-moon overhead; a moon that she had wished back six years ago in a time when they had been newlyweds, lost in love with each other and oblivious to the pressures and trials that would almost rip that union to pieces. His face was calm while he let the examination linger, watching her eyes, familiarizing himself with their luster and assured to see the concern there, and the love.

Those eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. "Are you drunk?" she asked.

He had been expecting anything but that. "Am I- _What?_ No!" He swung his legs off the railing and stood to face her. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm starting to make my peace with what's happened to me."

She was still eying him shrewdly. "Uh-huh. And what brought this suddenly around?"

"Gohan, Trunks," he flushed slightly when he added, "... your _mother_."

That surprised her. "_Mom?!_ What did she do?"

He was shaking his head. "I will never tell you even if a live to be hundred." He could start to see the gears turning in that genius mind of hers and added quickly, "and neither will she."

The doubt was finally starting to leave her face. "And how do I know that come morning you won't be right back to your old evil self?"

"I don't think he's a tenant anymore."

"Oh, come on!"

"I'm serious, Bulma. I faced my share of trials today and there wasn't one hint of that usual homicidal compulsion-" He suddenly broke off, considering, and felt compelled to add; "Well, I _did_ lose my temper with Gohan when we fought earlier but he purposely goaded me into it."

Now she had her answer about the new bruises on his face. "Gohan! When was he here?"

"It was probably around the time you were talking to Trunks. He's one smart son of a bitch, I'll give him that much. He let me win just to test my self-control. I could have killed him."

"But you didn't," she said, relieved.

"It wasn't even close. And that's not like me in a fight."

"No, it sure isn't."

He actually betrayed an absent shrug. "Perhaps that's not such a bad thing. Today I finally realized that all that I really care about are you and Trunks. You two are the only people that matter in my life. The rest on this world are of no consequence." He let those words sink in for a moment and then continued, "I'm trying to say that I want to try and make things right between the three of us. If you'll permit me, that is."

"I've put up with you killing my boyfriend and nearly destroying the earth," Bulma spoke carefully in a neutral tone. "You scared the shit out of me on Namek and treated me like some damned employee when you were training to fight Cell. I've stayed by your side through the V'Nhar, Dorothy Pereaux, Installation 15, and Frieza's poison. I've put up with more years of your stubborn, self-righteous bullshit than I'd like to count. Do you know what all of that means, Vegeta?"

He opened his mouth to respond and found himself at a rare loss for words. All he could get out was a meek, "No."

She closed the distance between them and suddenly kissed him. "It means that I'm sure as hell not going to let you off the hook now," she said softly, smiling for the first time tonight. "Not when there's finally a reason to hope that things will change for the better."

They embraced and kissed again and Bulma was encouraged by the fervor of his lips, not to mention the accuracy. Their disastrous first attempt at reconciliation was still fresh in her mind and she was cautiously optimistic that the man she loved seemed to be back at the controls.

Gently moving aside a few stray strands of her sea-foam colored hair, he softly pressed his lips to her forehead, kissing her gently before moving down, following the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the outline of her jaw with his lips. Tasting the soft flesh of her neck, earlobes, eyelids, he ran the tip of his tongue across her lips, tracing their contours before slowly sliding his tongue between them, teasing her lightly.

As the kiss deepened and began to get serious, Bulma thought that her trembling legs were going to betray her. She reached down and was relieved to find him hard and throbbing with need. _Oh yes, her Vegeta was back at last!_

He caught that thought. When they parted for breath, he told her, "No, I'm not the same person. I'm different. Better, I think." Gohan had said the same thing but now, right now, was the first time that he actually believed it might be true.

"I think so, too. Let's see what else you are," she said in a husky voice. She took his hand and led him back into their bedroom. Spurred on by their mutual excitement, clothes were shed in short order before they collapsed eagerly onto the bed.

With a subtle shift of her hips, she accepted the entire length of him with a gratified sigh. _Two months_, she thought absently, arching her back beneath him and grabbing firm hold of his muscular back. _It's been too damned long-!_ They became a delicious tangle of limbs riding the sea of navy blue sheets.

The two melded into one, each feeling, giving and receiving pleasure. It was intense, it was beautiful, wonderful, and more. Much more. It was the rejoining of two souls that had been separated for too long and were aching from neglect. Two soul mates consummating their union as if it were the first time they ever met. Their pleasures spiraled higher, both of them riding the edge of their union to the brink and holding it there, reveling in the intimacy. Their kisses were fevered, hands roughly tender as they grew reacquainted with each other, purposely delaying the inevitable, becoming familiar with each other's body through the delicate senses of taste and touch.

Softly murmured words were exchanged as each reached the edge time and time again. They were trapped in the fleeting eternity of their lovemaking before their passion sent them tumbling over the edge, falling down into the sweet transcendence of the moment; the touch of softened skin to hardened muscle. The one, soon returning to two as they finally drew apart, the swift beat of their hearts slipping to a slower rhythm and their heavy breathing gradually easing.

Feeling all of the muscles of her body relaxing from their efforts, Bulma settled in under the covers and felt his muscular body settle into place behind her, molding against her as close as he could. She took one of his hands and kissed it and felt his lips softly brushing against her shoulder. His hand traced the swell of her breasts and then went down to rub back and forth against her belly. Comforted by his touch, Bulma felt herself beginning to drift off. Her passion and lust sated in the act of their mutual love.

All was silent for perhaps ten minutes when Vegeta suddenly murmured, "I'm curious. Do earth females have to endure a fertility expiration date?"

Her eyes snapped open like window shades and her entire body stiffened against him. "...What?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

"Vegeta, what did you say?" She waited for more from him and got nothing. By the time her shocked mind began to process the possible implications (_Was he asking if I could still have children? Was that it?!_) he was asleep and snoring, another one of the side-effects he had gotten from merging with Gokou.

Bulma rolled over and watched him as he slept, her mind whirling. Unaware that she had begun doing it, she began to caress her own stomach.

Standing out side of the bedroom door clad only in nightie and housecoat, Mrs. Briefs shared the same look of stunned amazement that her daughter presently wore. She had heard every word (and a great deal more), her ears were very keen for a woman of her age. She eavesdropped just to assure herself that things were going to be all right between the troubled couple, or so she tried to tell herself anyway. Regardless of her motives she had heard enough and eagerly ran back to her bedroom.

Mr. Briefs was sitting up in bed and reading a thick tome about String Theory when his wife pounced on the bed like a little kid. "So, Bulma and Vegeta are getting along, are they?" he queried neutrally, knowing about his wife's odd voyeuristic tendencies where the odd couple was concerned.

"Better than that, honey! I think that they might decide to have another child, isn't that wonderful?" she gushed.

Mr. Briefs dropped his book into his lap while his wife discarded the housecoat and slipped under the covers. She gave him a sweet peck on the cheek and then rolled over onto her side. "Just think, we might hear the sweet pitter-patter of little feet soon. I can't wait!"

She fell quickly asleep, unaware of her husband sitting bolt upright and saying over and over in a hoarse whisper; _"...the horror ...the horror ..."_

* * *

BRAAAAA-!

Bulma slammed her palm down on the snooze button of the blaring alarm clock and rolled over to stare groggily at the ceiling. It had been a peculiar night's sleep. At least two times an hour throughout the night she had snapped awake and looked for Vegeta, convinced that having him once more in her bed had just been a dream. She found him in the exact same place each time; lying close beside her and sleeping peacefully. That annoying new tendency to snore had been replaced by his endearing purr-like rumble. To convince herself that this wasn't some cruel vision, she actually poked him to confirm he was real.

When dawn broke and she woke up to continue the odd ritual, she found his side of the bed was empty and almost panicked until she heard rustling in the room. Vegeta was up and changing into his jogging clothes, another familiar hobby that she was pleased to see him returning to. Seeing she was awake, he walked over and kissed her. "I'll see you later," he promised and left the room.

Bulma made a mental note to clear her noon hour for a quickie and then slapped her forehead in exasperation. It would have been the perfect time to ask him what he had meant about 'fertility expiration dates' and the moment was lost. "Damn it!" she cursed, wondering if her intelligence was on temporary hiatus. When she and Vegeta had first started courted, he'd had that effect on her; disarming her, making her second-guess herself, (driving her crazy) and damned if he hadn't taken up the reins and started doing it all again.

She rubbed her stomach again and allowed herself a small, wistful smile. Perhaps the time had come to stop taking the Pill once and for all ...She would have a deep discussion with him before doing it, though. This time, she had a deep suspicion that he just might be receptive to the idea.

Over breakfast, it was just her and Trunks with Mrs. Briefs flouncing all around the kitchen as if someone had slipped Ecstasy into her morning tea. The boy was shoveling food into his maw but he was more asleep than awake. Vegeta had dragged him out of bed to join him on his morning jog through Western Capital Park and now he was already exhausted even though it was barely eight o'clock. Bulma wasn't sure if it was her husband's method of bonding with his son or punishing him, but she found it hard to contain her amusement as she watched the boy struggling to keep his head up. She imagined that she would get a call from school today informing her that he had fallen asleep in class. It wouldn't be a first time.

She snapped her fingers beneath his chin and he jerked upright in surprise. "Trunks, go upstairs and take a quick shower. Hurry now, or you're going to be late for school."

"Uhm, 'kay mom," he mumbled and dragged himself out of the chair to go upstairs. It was almost painful to watch.

Bulma turned to her mother. "Has Vegeta been in for breakfast?"

Mrs. Briefs flashed her a beaming smile. "Not yet, honey!"

"...Mom, are you alright?"

"I couldn't be better!" she said happily. "It's just such a beautiful day!" she executed a near-perfect pirouette and danced off into the pantry.

Bulma shook her head and decided it was time to get to her office. The emergency with her family seemed to be resolving itself quickly and she had to get caught up on her work before there was a crisis of another kind. She had been ahead of things when Vegeta had been training for the tournament (after all, during that lonely period there hadn't been any other diversions to occupy her time), but now she was almost two weeks behind on paperwork, requisition orders, personnel reports, meetings, agendas and all other tasks that directly concerned a company President. Since stepping down to permit his daughter's control of the company, Mr. Briefs just tinkered around in the labs. Bulma envied her father that freedom and wondered how long it would be before she could turn the reins over to Trunks.

She went downstairs and was immediately aware that something was brewing. All of the staff of Research and Development were standing in the corridor, milling around and talking in excited undertones. The first thought to go racing through her mind was; _Oh crap- Mutiny!_ And she started backing up towards the stairs when Charles McNeal spotted her and came racing over.

"He's back! He's back!" he was spouting over and over. "My little buddy's back!" Some of the other scientists and engineers responsible for Capsule Corp.'s prototypes now noticed her and applauded, grinning wildly. A few even cheered.

"Keep it down out there, you morons!" a voice shouted from inside the lab and they all recoiled like a bunch of children, shushing themselves and moving further down the corridor to resume their excited chatter.

Bulma knew that voice. She peered around the side of the glass door and saw that Vegeta was standing at the drafting table scribbling furiously onto a blueprint. He was still in his jogging suit and he was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't even notice her. He had a pencil behind either ear and, assured that he was alone, he put on an old pair of Charles' glasses and began to fill in some fine detail. Bulma ducked back before she was spotted.

"How long has he been here?" she asked Charles.

"I got in at six-thirty and he showed up about fifteen minutes later," he told her. "He stood in front of the GravTab blueprint for close to an hour, just reading it over. Then he started making revisions."

She stole another peek. "It looks like he's redrafting the whole thing."

Charles was close beside her. "No, that's something else," he whispered. "He finished the modification for the GravTab in about five minutes. I don't know what he's designing now but whatever it is, it's _big_."

That explained the staff's excitement. Vegeta's blueprints were like unexpected Christmas gifts for the Research team and they actually started some scuffles among the employees as they squabbled about who would be_ lucky_ enough to get a crack at unraveling the designs and engineer a workable prototype. Down here, the Saiyan was regarded by Bulma's old department as a hero who had thrust Capsule Corp. into the limelight with its technological marvels. Not for the first time, Bulma thought it was ironic that her husband would command all of this respect for his talent and not his power.

"How did you do it, Bulma? The last time he was here, he was a wreck," Charles' voice broke and she was astonished to see that he was near tears. Whether it was from the excitement or genuine concern for the Saiyan, she wasn't sure.

She gripped her old friend's arm and offered him one of her most dazzling smiles. "It doesn't matter now. Like you said before, he's back."

_My Vegeta is back_, she thought, relieved, watching her husband as he worked. Her heart was glowing with love and pride for her man. _And he's better than ever._

_They would all live happily ever after._

It was about damned time!

* * *

**_ The End._**


End file.
